Darkness Falls
by Buddhacide
Summary: Continuation from Your Holiness. Relentlessly pursued by agents sent to silence them, the Ghosts are joined by Galatea, Miata and Clarice in their struggle to put a stop to the sinister machinations of the Organization. Cynthia x Galatea.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The city of Darene was amongst the major hubs down south. While not as acclaimed as the holy city Rabona, Darene was far more populous, and was a central market for more prosperous merchants and traders, who often passed through the city in order to ensure a realm-wide distribution of their goods. One could not do big business without having established connections in Darene.

It was a bright day; albeit slightly cloudy, when the bustling but peaceful city would change forever in a mere heartbeat.

As the towering gates boomed shut behind them, nine women and one girl made their way towards the city square, where the mingling crowds would render their presence less conspicuous. One could never be too cautious. One of them was dressed in the garb of a holy Sister, while the other nine had black cloaks draped around the ebony leather and cloth that hugged their bodies. The leader, known by name as Miria, turned to the holy Sister and said, "No disrespect intended, Galatea, but you should change into something more… common. If you have a cloak, it would be the best option."

A younger looking woman, whose eyes were expressive of a soft and kind heart, spoke up. "We should go to a tailor; to have him fit garments for Galatea."

"Why don't you go with her, Cynthia. You've been quite the comrade to Galatea these past few days," she added, noticing Cynthia's blank look. To Miria's right, the veteran warrior Helen smirked, and a younger contemporary, Tabitha, turned away, silent. Cynthia's blank expression remained, although it felt strained. Miria blinked in realization, although she already had a nagging inkling of what was transpiring, despite it being merely intuition.

_I should have been able to detect this faint discomfort between those two_.

"Al.. alright," said Cynthia uncertainly, breaking the momentary silence. "Galatea?" she managed, playing with the tails of her hair unconsciously. "Let's – "

"I heard the lady," came the senior warrior's sarcastic voice. She had closed her blind eyes, as if shutting away all other voices save Cynthia's. "Take me where you will."

As the former Number Fourteen and Number Three made their way into the bustling side streets, Helen turned to Miria. "You know, I saw something funny this morning. D'you want to know?"

"We've got bigger things to worry about now," said Miria. "Clare. Don't you sense something about this city?"

"Yeah. The Organization has been here. And…" Clare's eyes narrowed. "Awakened Ones have been here." She glanced at Miria. "How long will we be here? We're yet to catch any from the Organization, and we haven't found Isley and Priscilla yet."

"We'll be staying here awhile. How long, I don't know." Miria raised her face to the gray sky. "Make yourselves comfortable. I hope to organize a search party soon to – "

"Search party? You never told us about this," interrupted Helen, surprised.

"This is in relation to what Clare asked." Miria's eyes glimmered. "Dante, Dauf, and Riful. Isley and Priscilla. And finally, the Organization and its stubborn persistence of the war against the Descendants of the Dragons. These three parties are our enemies, for the time being. It's no easy task to take them all down; even when they all have conflicting interests. That's why we need to approach this with the utmost caution."

"Let us in on your plan, Miria," said Clare.

"Yeah… Awakened One or weak old man, no one will stand in our way!" declared Helen, hitting her palm with her fist.

"Alright, then." Miria beckoned Deneve, Yuma, Tabitha, Clarice and Miata to join Clare and Helen.

"Now, listen up, everyone…"

*

In the corner of a nearby street, Cynthia sighed in relief as she and the slightly taller woman entered a tailor, pushing open the wooden door. "You handled it really well, Galatea. I didn't know how to reply to Miria back there."

"I'm always on my feet. Unlike you," added Galatea, smiling at the bashful Yoki of her new lover. "I have to wait on you all the time, don't I?"

"What is milady looking to wear today?" came an old man's voice. Cynthia and Galatea turned to the source of the voice. The elder took one glance at Galatea's garb and bowed. "A Bride of God! You honour my humble abode with your sacred presence."

"Well, I'm going to look a lot less holy in a few minutes," replied the nun. "I'd like a black dress, preferably something that does not reveal too much of me. And give me a black hosiery set while you're measuring me up."

"You'd look gorgeous, Galatea," gushed Cynthia, after the old man scurried away. "I've never seen you in the clothes of a noblewoman before."

"A noblewoman's garments that do not scream for attention," said Galatea. "I like that. I'm sure that will suffice for now," she added, smiling at Cynthia.

Then, as suddenly, her expression changed. Her unseeing eyes narrowed, and her hand touched Cynthia's briefly, as if to ensure that she was physically close enough to protect her.

Cynthia felt troubled. She shuffled closer to Galatea. "What… what's wrong?"

The reply that followed was worrisome. "I sense… a very powerful being with a tremendous amount of Yoki headed in the direction of this city."

*

Deep within a cave, a man's boots tapped silently on the cold, hard ground. He slowly walked into a dank chamber, facing a young girl in a pink dress.

It felt good to be home.

He brushed aside his black hair and placed one knee on the dungeon floor. "I have returned with my report, milady."

"Lord Dante," replied the other happily. "Welcome back. Tell me everything."

The other's face was impassive, although an inferno raged behind his eyes. "Lady Riful. _The hunters of the warriors we hoped to convert have begun to move_."


	2. Chapter 1: Wounded Deva

**Chapter 1: Wounded Deva**

In the dark cave that was Riful's lair, Lord Dante kneeled before his mistress. "I have returned," he declared politely.

"Welcome back, Dante," chirped Riful, who had been fiddling with her brown hair while sitting on a small, unassuming chair. "Now that you're here, tell me everything," she said.

"As per your orders, I attempted to Awaken the former Number Forty-Seven, as part of her debt to you, but I was unable to catch her as you had requested. When she managed to escape, I tried to Awaken the two warriors who stayed behind to hold me back."

"So, how did it go?" she asked. "You let them survive, didn't you? It's not like I like killing talented warriors."

"Indeed they are talented. I would even go so far as to suggest that you underestimated them, my Lady," said Dante. "I could barely sense any weakness at all. Even when I threatened them with actual death, as per your orders, they were… unmoved."

"That's amazing," said Riful, her eyes wide in genuine astonishment. "They've progressed this far? And how did they hold up against you?"

"Ineffectually. I'm not surprised. But what _is_ surprising is that neither broke, not even the younger one. In fact, after I had defeated the older one and struck her to the ground, my eyes momentarily met that of the junior's. The fury behind those silver eyes…" he paused. "They share a bond of such great closeness that I faintly remember having experienced it myself. I suspect that intimacy is what enabled them to defeat their desire to Awaken. Therefore, I had no alternative but to leave."

"You're right," sighed Riful, pouting. "Really, neither you or Dauf have ever been able to get any high-level warriors to Awaken since that incident with… _Jean_, that's the one. The Number Nine of Alicia and Beth's generation. And to make things worse, Isley has Priscilla," she grimaced, her pleasant countenance, for just one moment, darkening. "So far, they are unbeatable. They're the ones I'm worried about."

"Yet I sense an unknown force making its way to the city of Darene, now. It seems someone has decided to deal with those stubborn women who refuse to stay dead."

"It's too soon," grumbled Riful. "The Organization is up to something big this time." For one moment, her teeth clenched. "I don't like how things are turning out."

Dante noticed. "Shall I pursue? Should anyone kill the warriors you seek to Awaken, it will be yet another setback for our plans. Even worse, nothing will change on this accursed continent; neither our situation nor the position of the Organization's."

"Well, let them be." Riful smiled again. "Weaklings don't deserved to be tortured about the knowledge of the War. It is the powerful who can truly make a difference. So leave them be. I'll be sending you out again very soon."

"Yes, milady."

Riful smiled as Dante rose and turned to leave the dank chamber.

It was an interesting time to be an Awakened One.

"At the very least, this could lead to something interesting," she murmured to herself. "Who knows; we may finally be able to settle the balance of power in this land, once and for all."

*

Hastily garbed in her new black dress, Galatea had taken Cynthia by the hand and hurried back to where their comrades had waited. "Why is this Yoki blurred; garbled? As if they are synchronized, yet separately individual?" muttered Galatea, as they pushed their way past the crowds and finally made it to Miria and the others. They also looked concerned, and the sudden disturbance seemed to have interrupted a tight-knit conversation they had been sharing. "This doesn't even feel like true Yoki anymore."

"That is because…" Tabitha closed her eyes. "This is _not_ Yoki; merely a powerful aura. And there is not one, but several."

"Impossible," said Galatea. "I was sure it was a diffused saturation of Yoki."  
"Either we have never encountered this kind of Yoki before, or whoever is emanating this true aura was able to throw us off-guard with mistaking them to be something else."

"Beings who can manipulate their aura? Whether voluntarily or not, that sounds outrageous. Who can have such a mighty aura and exist free from Yoma blood?" whispered Deneve.

One glance between the ten women and the understanding was mutual: _prepare for battle_.

The city gates boomed open, as if in response to an external command. Yuma and Clarice stared in astonishment as six tall figures walked into the city; their metal greaves tapping heavily on the ground. They were quite obviously soldiers, and they were grand in their entrance; awe-inspiring in their splendour. They were resplendent from head to toe in perfect shining platinum and tall Burgonets that allowed only slits for their eyes. All six of them carried a great glaive, a massive halberd that was longer than their bodies, and jeweled longswords fixed at their hilts. Covering their platinum armour was a dark cloak and cape that were sewn with the insignia of Rabona's deity.

"They are here," one of them boomed.

"Over there," declared another of the towering Knights.

Although they completely ignored the townspeople, the bustling surroundings suddenly became a lot quieter. Fear gripped the air as the new arrivals made their way towards the former warriors, striding purposefully towards the women as if they had known them all their lives.

Tabitha no longer needed to close her eyes. "Formidable opponents…"

"You saved us the trouble of scouring this city for you, women," declared the largest of the soldiers, stopping several feet apart from them. His voice was audible, but harsh and deep. "Have you any inkling of how dire your situation is; that we must face you in broad daylight?"

"Who the hell – " started Helen.

"Shut up," snapped the man. "Keep your filthy mouth silent, you traitorous witch. I am addressing the leader of these demons – " he pointed at Miria, who remained calm. "The self-appointed inquisitor of the Organization, former Number Six."

"Listen, you s – "

"Helen," said Miria quietly. "Get the humans out of here." She subtly positioned herself in a fighting stance – her left foot ever so slightly in front of her, and her hand just in position to draw her sword in an instant. "Who are you?"

"We are soldiers of the Western Gate. People like _you_ shouldn't know, but given that we were commissioned to execute you, I should at least do the honour of enlightening you on who we are."

"Since you've accused me and declared me execution-worthy so readily, I'm not going to play ignorant," said Miria, suppressing a smile at the shocked silence from the soldiers. "I also know about you from my investigations. You're nothing truly secretive; you're merely part of a vast beast."

"Miria," whispered Clarice, "who are they?"

"They are the weathered, seasoned soldiers of the continuing War against the Dragon Tribes; the warriors who require the ultimate weapon of controllable Awakened Beings. In other words, they are the reason why the Organization exists. They are the reason why…" she closed her eyes. "Why we are half-human, half-Yoma."

Yuma and Clarice gasped. Clare's eyes widened, and Helen's expression turned into one of fury. "Why you – "

"I told you to get the humans to safety," repeated Miria, without looking. "Clarice, go with her."

Helen and Clarice momentarily hesitated, before running to disperse the bewildered and frightened crowds.

Completely unaffected, the apparent leader of the soldiers responded to Miria. "You will not listen to reason, will you? You have not stopped your subversive, destructive movements for quite some time. As a result, your existence endangers the safety of this nation. For this reason, we were recalled from the Continent to personally execute you."

"You have no idea what you are doing," hissed another of the soldiers. "Your meddling and probing into how this nation functions is completely detrimental to its well-being. To be recalled from the field of battle at a time like this is unthinkable; but this is simply telling of our Deputy Gate Marshal's concern." Within his helm, his eyes narrowed. "You are a traitor who will destroy the future of this nation."

"Indeed I'm a traitor," replied Miria, almost lazily. "The Organization does seem to suffer from a significant number of freethinkers these days."

"Were you sent on order of Rimuto?" asked Galatea.

"Do not be a fool. Backwater peons have no authority on us. Only the Grand General holds jurisdiction over us; over the army that needs controllable Awakened Beings to protect this nation from the Descendants. But you – " his voice, already overbearingly hostile, became twisted and hateful. "You just _have_ to undermine all that we've worked towards – "

"How were you able to pass of your aura as that of a powerful Yoma's?" interrupted Clare, her voice quiet. "It's something that is quite incredible for a human to be able to do."

"You seem to be rather oblivious of the situation you have put yourself into," growled the leader. His grip on his weapon visibly tightened. "Even if I answered, would such an explanation suffice for your useless little minds?" Suddenly he lunged and sliced at Miria, but she had leaped away, anticipating effortlessly the muscle movement of the human male. She eyed him cautiously, even as he shouted for his comrades to move into a raiding formation.

_We will not kill you. Our lives will not be stained by your despicable blood_.

Galatea's eyes narrowed, and she moved forward to help. But Cynthia stepped forward. "Do what you do best, Your Holiness," murmured the younger warrior. She moved in front of Galatea protectively. "Defend the people."

Galatea smiled in understanding, and stepped back as Cynthia charged the soldiers alongside Tabitha and Yuma. "Helen!" she called. Helen, who had been yelling at the remaining stragglers to leave, turned her head. "I'll take your place. They need you," said Galatea, nodding. Helen licked her lips in understanding and drew her sword, hurtling towards the soldiers of the Right Gate. One of them, who had remained silent all this time, swung at her –

"Oh, piss off." Helen's right arm suddenly elongated and shot at the man with unbelievable speed. The soldier, shocked, struggled to avoid it. Helen's impact crashed into the ground, leaving a miniature crater. The soldier's eyes narrowed. He aimed his glaive at her and sprinted. But Helen attacked again and this time, her aim struck true, her Claymore tearing through the glaive, splitting it through the middle, and doing the same to his arms. He shrieked in pain at the Claymore drove through his hands and arms. Helen retracted her arm as he collapsed from the pain. "So the armour's all for show? Pah!" shouted Helen in scorn. She smirked at Cynthia. "Don't lag behind, senior!" she crowed, as the former Number Fourteen narrowly dodged the blades of two hunters. She somersaulted away as Tabitha and Yuma stepped forward parried the glaives.

Suddenly, one of the hunters drew their longsword, and Yuma stumbled back, a trail of blood trickling from her thigh. Tabitha growled and stabbed at the man who had cut Yuma. He parried with success. "I'm going to kill you," he roared in triumph, bringing down his sword. But Cynthia had predicted his move and shifted forward and deflected his attack. He rolled back, expecting her to follow through, but she stayed her hand. "You don't want to kill us? How touching," he sneered, charging forward again as his comrade did the same. Cynthia shifted forward, but paused as Miata suddenly dashed in between her and the soldiers. One strike from her blade, and the hunters were forced back. She leaped forward and thrust her blade into her opponent's open stomach. He screamed and collapsed. Cynthia glanced behind her to see the other hunter recovering from Miata's sudden attack. She calmly raised the hilt of her sword and slashed across his body in a calculatedly non-lethal move, only ensuring it was painful enough for him to fall down in defeat.

One of the shorter soldiers raised his giant glaive and swung at Clare. To the uneducated eye, it looked clumsy, unwieldy. But from years of using Claymores, Clare knew that the moment their blades connected, the opponent she faced had trained, fought, and bled through many decisive moments in his life to be worthy of his weapon. She was forced back slightly. Encouraged, the soldier followed up with a diagonal strike –

_Strong. But in the end, they are still human_. In one movement of utter finesse and strategic superiority, Clare shifted her Yoki into Irene's arm. It moved – far too quickly for her attacker to block, and one unexpected slash was all it took to slice his arms off, and his armoured body stumbled, falling to the ground. She calmly stood up even as the man roared in pain and rage.

_We will not kill you. Our consciences will not be burdened by your heartless souls_.

"Clare! Look out," cried Cynthia, as the fifth hunter raised his glaive behind her. Clare turned, calmly lifting her sword to meet his strike, when a Claymore suddenly pierced through his armoured thigh, splitting his leg in half. A sickening _crunch_ of metal blade against human bone could be heard. Gore trickled out of the man's plates even as Helen casually retracted her arm back to its normal length. "That was close," breathed Cynthia, watching the man fold, yelling in agony.

"Don't misjudge our abilities, senior," shrugged Helen. "We haven't survived this long through sheer luck."

Miria dodged slash after slash from the burly leader's glaive, unaffected by his battlecries. Although she had an advantage, she still felt surprise. _For a human, he is unbelievably fast_. She suddenly shifted, and her New Mirage shot past the soldier. _But of course. He doesn't fight mere Yoma, nor even Awakened Beings_. _For years he has struggled to survive against the superior race of Dragon Tribes_. Of greater strength, the determined slash of her sword sent her opponent's glaive spinning upwards. The other growled and drew his longsword and thrust at Miria. She dodged and counterattacked. Their swords met, and to her surprise, his strength was formidable; comparable to hers. "You're pretty good," she commented. "Still, your commander was a fool to have sent six human men to execute ten half-Yoma."

"Our bodies and spirits have been forged in the fires of a Hell you can never understand," hissed the man. "We are of an Army that has fought against beings far more powerful than some useless Yoma or Awakened Being. All we hoped for was for someone to help set right the imbalance of power. Yet you – "

"Yes. I refuse to cooperate with some higher purpose that throws human value to the wolves." Miria forced him back, and she tapped into her Yoki again, rushing towards him. He tried to block her sword, but his eyes widened in shock as it passed straight through – he had been deceived by her Mirage. She struck from his side, and neatly severed his right arm. Ducking under a wild swing from his remaining gauntleted fist, she slashed upwards and carved a deep wound across his plated chest. He fell back and collapsed, unable to fight back.

"Your harvesting of innocent lives ends here, nameless soldier," said Miria, pointing her sword at him. "We've put an end to six fighting careers today; we'll put an end to the Organization itself as well. It's only a matter of time."

"This land exists for us to bring down the Descendants. You must understand that you serve this great purpose! You will pay sorely for your stubborn resistance," said the leader bitterly. Only just managing to get up, he gestured with his left arm, bidding the others to retreat. "This isn't over," he spat, as the defeated soldiers stumbled in the direction of the city gates. "We will return your insolence with wrath a hundredfold."

Clare tried her best to hide her smirk as the soldiers fled from their presence.

_The Organization and its allies have always underestimated the people it thinks it controls… sending riffraff to fight against vastly superior warriors._

_I learnt that when I saw Teresa's 'execution' for the first time…_

_And her… final battle as well…_

_Humans… really do never learn… one way or another_.

*

It was nighttime. Helen always felt good relaxing at an inn when it was late into the evening, especially when she and her friends were hosted by a grateful woman. The elderly lady was one of those who had been guided out of danger by Galatea and Clarice. Although the battle in the city square hadn't been as destructive as their skirmish with Agatha, there were still concern that innocents could be harmed.

Tonight's hearty meal was testament to the people's safety.

They sat around a rectangular table, the ten of them, conversing of the day's events. While they all seemed reasonably unhurt and unruffled, the revelations were indeed shocking. And furthermore, Miata was clutching at Clarice, who looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

It couldn't be helped. _Poor kid_. "Those humans; they were still pretty strong," remarked Helen, taking a swig of ale. "We've trained and fought for so long, and these human men still managed to resist us, if only for a short while."

"Yes," said Deneve quietly, chewing slowly at a piece of bread. "They had talent, that is for certain. I had never known that one could not just suppress a natural aura, but even disguise it as that of a Yoki's. It would prevent traitors to the Organization ever knowing who these soldiers were; and the dead can't talk of any Army.

"But that strategy would've worked only if they had won against us. Since they underestimated us, now they're in some pretty deep trouble," shrugged Deneve, closing her eyes and taking another bite from her loaf.

"It was almost a good thing they came. Soldiers assigned to something called the Western Gate, huh? And they're commanded by some Deputy Gate Marshal, huh? They babbled a lot more than they thought." Helen smirked. "Well, too bad. That's what you get when you get too cocky in your role as executioner. Hey, Miria? You got a lot more information than you expected, didn't you?"

"Hmm," acknowledged Miria, deep in thought.

"He mentioned in passing a so-called Grand General," said Deneve. "Could this man be the one behind…"

"Everything?" completed Yuma, her eyes wide in disbelief. "It's almost…"

"It seems outrageous," agreed Miria. "My guess is that the soldiers we fought were assigned to certain posts somewhere in the Continent during their battles against the Descendants. One of them must be the Western Gate; and these soldier's commander must be the Western Gate Marshal. And more importantly, I suspect either the Grand General, or someone with the power and influence equivalent to the Grand General, is the man who commissioned the production and experimentation of Awakened Beings to the Organization."

"But… the existence of half-human, half-Yoma warriors and Awakened Beings has been known for many, many decades… how could the Grand General have lived through so many generations to oversee this project?" asked Yuma nervously.

"Use your head," said Deneve. "It may simply be a hereditary title, or more likely, the highest rank of this Army that Miria was talking about. The Army that is now still fighting the Dragon Tribes despite the War having raged for centuries."

"Either way, this is serious information that will be of immense importance to us in the future," said Miria, standing up. "But there are still things that remain a complete mystery to us."

"Such as, how did they manage to track us here, in Darene?" muttered Clare.

"I would suggest," said Miria, and her voice was not jesting, "that perhaps the Army's expanding its influence; tightening its control over the land ever since it discovered so many of the Organization's warriors went renegade."

Galatea's face was grim. "It seems that the foes we will face in future will be quite the challenge. I'm sure they've learnt from this fiasco. They will not underestimate us again."

"You're right," said Miria, barely able to suppress a tired sigh. She left the table and began to walk towards the door.

"I'm going to rest. You all shouldn't push yourselves too hard, either." And with that, she left the room.

*

Miria felt slightly guilty for not telling the complete truth. What she really wanted was some fresh air, some coolness to balance the warmth of the inn. As she stood outside, observing the sleeping streets of the city, she sensed that Helen had joined her. She did not even turn her head as her longtime comrade stood beside her. "Hey."

"Helen," she acknowledged, crossing her arms.

"A fine group we got going here, haven't we? From four, to seven. From seven, to ten. I almost miss the old days when it was just you leading me, Deneve and Clare."

"I wish this group consisted of everyone from the Northern Campaign," murmured Miria, to which Helen could not muster a reply. "I'd much rather have everyone with us, although… ten's not too bad, either."

"Alrighty," said Helen, slightly humbled. "Say… I wanted to tell you this for a while." Her eyes shone with a mischievous glint. "It's about Cynthia and Galatea."

"Ah." Miria smiled. "What could those two be up to? To my knowledge, they only recently got acquainted."

"But when you sent me to tell them about your plans for coming to Darene, I saw something quite fun," said Helen, grinning. "Those two are pretty comfortable with each other."

Miria raised an eyebrow. "Really. I suspected something strange ever since that night Cynthia brought Galatea back from their battle with Dante." She let out a sigh. "Not that it's my business, despite being their leader. I haven't been comfortable with anyone since Hilda was taken from me." Miria raised her face to look at the moonlit, star-studded sky. "I'm not totally sure about everything that's happened between them, but if it's what you and I suspect… then really, good for them. It's… a rare gift for us half-humans, half-Yoma. I can't guarantee what's going to happen to us in the future, even with my new plan and all the new revelations we've received today. Our war is against the Organization. So, as long as it doesn't endanger the group, I'll let them embarrass themselves all they like."

Helen snorted in reply. "You're not much fun these days, are you?"

Miria smiled ever so slightly. "I wasn't ever much fun, Helen. Come on," she continued, making her way back inside the inn. "I'm going to sleep. We've a lot of work ahead of us in the following weeks."

Helen smirked again. _We love you too, Miria_.

"Yes, captain."


	3. Chapter 2: The Mighty Shall Kneel

**Chapter 2: The Mighty Shall Kneel**

In the inn of the kindly old lady, Cynthia tiptoed upstairs to find Galatea, trying her best to keep silent. Her feet creaked gently against the wooden boards. One couldn't be too careful trying not to get caught. Especially since _that_ night, she had been forced to take additional steps to avoid the suspicious glances of Tabitha.

She peeked around the corner of the stairwell nervously. Galatea's room was beside Clare's, on the upper level of the inn. _Are Clare and Helen here_? She swiveled her head quickly and discreetly.

_All clear_.

_Only a few more steps to her room_.

She hurried to Galatea's door and knocked. "It's open," came Galatea's bored voice. Cynthia squeaked in delight and made her way in, closing the door behind her. Galatea was wearing her new regal black dress, and facing a mirror near the drawer. "Hi there, Cynthia," she replied, her voice tired but welcoming. "I was just reminiscing of the days when I still could see. Although I only had our warrior's uniform, I would nevertheless sit in front of a mirror and admire myself occasionally. Quite fitting, that I attain some degree of humility through losing my sight."

"But you're still beautiful. You're _truly_ beautiful," mumbled Cynthia, her cheeks red with pleasure and anticipation. "May I join you?" she asked hopefully, her eyes falling on the soft, inviting frame of Galatea's bed.

Her senior nodded. Her smile, ironic as ever, broadened as the younger woman sat on her bed, eagerly waiting for Galatea. "For someone who is being chased by enemies who possess unspeakable power, you seem awfully cheery." Galatea's sightless gaze grew slightly distant as she sat down on her bed, next to her lover. "I suppose I should also rouse myself to match the heights of your happiness," she sighed, her hands playing with the tails of Cynthia's hair.

Cynthia closed her eyes, savouring the affectionate touch of the other. "I want to stay here awhile, Sister," she said. "It's only been several days, but I feel as if I haven't enjoyed your embrace in too long a time."

Galatea simply laughed in reply – the first, genuine laugh Cynthia had ever heard from her. "Have you been drinking with Helen?" she asked, kissing Cynthia, who closed her eyes. Their breathing quickened, their mouths exploring each other's as she continued to whisper, "attachment can be a root of suffering, little lamb."

"It's true!" protested Cynthia, although her attempt to argue her case was somewhat muffled by Galatea's lips. "I… I haven't been able to hold you, to touch you… ever since we came… to Darene."

"I desire your presence as much as you do mine, dear girl," said Galatea, cupping the tail-haired woman's cheeks with her palms. "It is difficult for both of us."

"But you're so much more… disciplined than I am," grumbled Cynthia. "And you don't get me in trouble either – I always embarrass you." She glanced briefly at the door; ensuring that she had shut it properly.

_Good_.

"I'm hungry, hungry for your company, Galatea," she continued, with slight difficulty. "That's why I came to your room today. I can't stand it; I don't want to have to distance myself from you just for the others anymore. If we must do this in secrecy, then let's do so. Please understand this, at least."

"Then, what would you like?" asked Galatea sarcastically. "What would you have me do, so I can save you from this torturous quandary?"

"Always the sardonic one," pouted Cynthia. "You've always like that, ever since I met you."

A smile gradually worked itself on her face.

"Well, for one thing, that dress of yours is getting annoying."

She suddenly giggled, her hands grabbing Galatea's top and working away at the clasps that held it together. "Let me get rid of it for you." No longer surprised at her lover's sudden and passionate bursts of desire, Galatea did not resist as Cynthia began to disrobe her. Cynthia's eyes sparkled as silken cloth slinked off Galatea's skin. She threw away her top, and then tore at the fabric that hid Galatea's hips, her smooth, shapely legs. As their breasts and bodies pressed against each other, Cynthia unstrapped her own black leather, clumsily throwing the items of irrelevance to the wooden floor.

_This is taking so long_!

After several lust-seared moments, the tedious deed of undressing was at last complete. Satisfied at Galatea's nakedness, Cynthia embraced her, wrapping her soft, bare legs around her and refusing to release her. "Make love to me," she demanded, her voice quiet and simmering with a barely contained fire. "Love me like that night you gave yourself to me, in the lake."

"And if one of them knocks on my door?"

"The door is closed. They will not hear us. We can keep quiet – I hope…"

"You're quite the naughty one," interrupted Galatea, feigning maternal anger. "You must be punished." Cynthia squealed in submissive delight as Galatea unexpectedly went on the offensive, bringing Cynthia under her as the bed creaked under their weight. She raised her hand and suddenly slapped Cynthia's derrière lightly, and Cynthia cried out in surprise even as her own legs tightened around Galatea's waist.

She had never felt such a sensation before.

The stinging, and the returning joy that could only have come from the knowledge that Her Holiness Galatea had smacked her in chastisement, was…

Was…

_Perfect_.

Cynthia felt her senses explode in scorched craving, her mind overwhelmed by a bizarre mixture of pleasurable pain and agonizing rapture. Her toes curled, already in the throes of helpless ecstasy. She scrabbled at Galatea wildly, screaming for her to slap her again, to take her; take her as was a Holy Sister's right.

_Take me. Take me, and keep me under your wing forever_.

Galatea also felt the pull of love. "Truth be told, it's only a bed for one," moaned the older woman, nibbling at Cynthia's neck and clutching harder at her buttocks as her junior's cries of joy loudened. "But still… we can be creative."

*

Eastern Sutafu

"The situation is dire," rang out Rimuto's voice. The atmosphere of the dark chamber grew slightly unsettled as the men in black robes muttered amongst each other, consternation in their voices.

Never before had their lifeblood been so endangered.

The Organization's upper echelon had not suffered such a rebellion from their warriors since Teresa's murder of a crew of bandits.  
And most certainly, a repeat of the past's nightmare was not desired.

"Ermita," said Rimuto, addressing the cloaked man who stood before the council. "How are you to account for this disaster? Two of the warriors under _your_ supervision have caused the greatest upheaval in this nation's history. That the Army has conducted a skirmish against our own creations is a thing unheard previously of."

"The female mind is a difficult thing to tame," replied Ermita with his slightly muffled voice, "especially when it is not given love. Nor have we revealed to them the origins of their purpose; their role in the War. Starved of the affection and transparency that they would enjoy from normal human relations, it is truly unfortunate, but inevitable that certain warriors feel the urge to rebel. In particular, my own charge, former Number Three, Galatea. She is not dead yet, and has most likely joined with the renegades. But – " he continued, ignoring the disturbed muttering that sprang up again. "Her conduct has been unacceptable. I never imagined such highly valued soldiers could fall on the wayside along with the other defectors."

A voice suddenly rang out, interrupting the conference. "It's a pity, because my commander also underestimated them. He sent only six soldiers from the Western Gate to execute ten half-Yoma. It was admittedly a mistaken presumption. That is why your full cooperation in this matter is, as always, well and truly appreciated." The men of the Organization raised their heads slightly at the newcomer's words. A slender man had made their way into the chamber, garmed in a light grey robe that was not of the region's garments. He had short blonde hair, weathered, tanned skin and eyes that danced with elitism.

"I encountered Ermita on my way here, which was lucky," said the man, smiling. "It is a pleasure to meet the clients whom we have placed our trust in for victory against the nation's enemies. I am Baudelio, the ambassador of the Western Gate Army. I have come on direct orders from our regional commander."

While Rimuto's expression remained unchanged, his voice, for a moment, sounded awestruck. "The emissary of the His Excellency the Western Gate Marshal. What could possibly have brought you back from the frontlines?"

The emissary examined his nails casually. "Perhaps you do not know what had transpired in the city of Darene, but only yesterday, we received the return of six of our Knights – badly wounded, utterly defeated. Given your relative laxity in dealing with these women, who are still uncovering even more of your Organization's machinations, the Western Gate Marshal took it upon himself to dispatch six men from the Second Infantry Battalion to execute them. But it is obvious that this endeavour has failed. Your orders, therefore, are to pour all your resources into destroying the 'spectres'."

Rimuto shook his head. "Due to the recent upheavals in this land, and the recent movements of the Abyssal Ones, we have struggled to maintain our quota of harvestable warriors. We have few warriors to form a fully competent force to engage the spectres of the Northern War."

"Wait," said another of the council members. "There is one. The warrior who disappeared some time ago, when there transpired a colossal battle between Isley and Lucielia. In terms of age, she is the most senior of our troops."

"Ah, yes," acknowledged Rimuto. "Her name… is _Raphaela_, is it not?" He paused, deep in thought. "Good. Perhaps we will do that.

"Ermita," he commanded. "Since both your charges, Miria and Galatea, have deserted us, I want you to find Raphaela and take command of her movements from hereon. I want her to hunt down the warrior Clarice and Miata failed to kill."

"She is the best choice," agreed Ermita, "but her Yoki has long been untraceable. She is either dead, or has gone into hiding, just like Galatea."

Rimuto nodded. "What you say is true. However, a veteran warrior like her will not simply have given up on life. . and if she is alive, we _will_ find her, and she _will_ follow our orders."

He looked at Baudelio, who smiled expectantly. "It is decided. We will locate Raphaela, and send her to execute the former Number Three. This matter must be brought to a close; once and for all."

*

Far away, in a small inn in the city of Darene, two women talked and laughed together, wrapped in each other, the cool blanket soaking up the passion of their lovemaking. It had been exhilarating, exuberant, joyful, persisting over several hours that endured as an erotic eternity. Ultimately, their Yoki interweaved, fusing their humanity as one; their being uniting through the warm grasp of adoration.

A bond never thought possible by those who sought to destroy them; who called them silver-eyed witches.

Cynthia sighed in bliss, her hands entwined with Galatea's, their sweat-drenched, moist bodies pressed close together. "I feel more and more out of shape every moment I spend with you," breathed Galatea, her smile radiant. "My heart has long grown soft; my will, powerless to your mischief. Honestly, I don't know if I'm the fighter I once was."

"Then fight your battles with me by your side, Sister Latea," replied Cynthia, her lips light on Galatea's. "Don't you ever leave me behind."  
"Do not fear, my little kitten," reassured Galatea, as they shared yet another loving kiss. "I will stay with you, as long as Fate will allow me."

*

"… I see."

Baudelio smiled before the council of black-robed men. "So this Raphaela shall execute Galatea and bring her head to me? I like that. Oh yes – " Baudelio paused. "I almost forgot. The project involving the Dark Ones has been completed, has it not? Have you been able to replicate the success?"

"Not enough to created a division of Awakened Beings. Thus far, we only have one controllable specimen; Alicia. It is not wise for us to send her to join the Grand General on the frontlines yet."

"Disappointing. But no matter. The Western Gate Marshal's concern is not to involve her with the Dragon Tribes yet. Rather, allow the Army to deal with the other traitor, the former Number Six."

Ermita paused. "Miria?"

"Yes. As far as you and your people shall be concerned, your objectives are to erase this former Number Three from history, along with the two Claymores you sent to hunt her down a while ago. Kill all their relations. And on our part, the Western Gate Marshal will personally lead a division of troops from the frontlines to move against the former Number Six. We shall put an end to her probing, and silence her comrades, so that you may continue to manufacture Awakened Beings in peace."

Disturbed murmurs again. "What… what do you mean?" muttered one of the council members. "Are… are you speaking of invasion…?"

"When the Western Gate Marshal arrives in Darene with his soldiers, how do you propose to explain this to the denizens of this realm, who know nothing of the Army, or even the true purpose of our warriors?" asked Ermita quietly.

"I care not for the filthy commoners of this nation; they are little more than test subjects for your commission. They are completely and utterly expendable in our war. But the only ones who _must_ die are those women. Since they dealt with six of our men – " Baudelio smiled. "Let's see how they handle five hundred; under the direct leadership of our commander. We shall lay siege to Darene, and reduce it to dust if necessary. But at the end of the day, those spectres of seven years past shall also be laid to rest."  
"This historical precedent is preposterous. To show the Army in its full force in broad daylight?! And for the sake of our creations!" protested a council member. "What of our contract of non-interference? To destroy an entire city to hunt down several women – "

"Do you want the edifice of your life's work to crumble at the hands of your own daughters?" asked Baudelio calmly. "Or would you rather us take action so that we can at last destroy the Dragon Tribes forever?"

A stunned silence fell upon the black-robed men of the Organization.

Rimuto made no effort to hide his grimace. "I suppose it is unavoidable that the Army would interfere in our affairs, given our poor choice of loyal warriors."

"You are correct. It's decided then," said Baudelio, ignoring Rimuto's displeasure. "Good! Simply marvellous. Superb. Now that we have decided who amongst the traitors must die – all of them – I can be on my way."

He turned his back on Rimuto and began to walk, brushing past Ermita. "I leave everything else in your capable hands, gentlemen. Let us help these women understand that to challenge the Organization is to challenge the Army itself. They shall know their place. They shall kneel," he declared, "before the power of the Army and His Excellency, the Lord High Grand General."


	4. Chapter 3: Massacre of Darene

**Chapter 3: The Massacre of Darene**

Garbed in her ebony leather and her hair tied back, Miria stood in the city square where she had skirmished with a member of the Army a week ago. She looked up at the sky, deep in thought, ignoring the glances of the men who passed by her in the marketplace. The grey clouds were gathering above the city. An ill omen? No. She should not believe in such superstition. Miria considered herself a pragmatist; or at least, a practical woman. She had survived this long and guided her comrades to a life of conscience not simply through her desire for justice, but her practical aspiration for a life untroubled by conflict: a desire common amongst most freethinkers, if she might say so herself.

A life of conscience? _Free from the Organization_, she confirmed silently to herself. _Free from humans crueler than the monsters they seek to destroy_.

_And if we can do that, perhaps there'll no longer be any Yoma. Nor any Awakened Beings. Without the Organization pursuing us, we can restore the balance of power against Isley and Riful. We might be able to defeat them, and lay them to rest. And then… perhaps we can live somewhere quiet and secluded, enjoying our days in peace together_.

Her mind had wandered onto the problem of the Dragon Tribes when Galatea's voice interrupted. "Why are you out here on such a dull afternoon?" said the older woman, who had come with Cynthia.

"I was allowing the others some time to themselves," replied Miria. "I don't want them to feel like they're being mothered." She closed her eyes briefly. "Can you sense the aura, even though it's so far away?"

_They will come soon. But how they will approach us, I don't know_.

Galatea nodded. "Yes. This powerful Yoki… could it be those soldiers…?"

"I believe so. It is far stronger than before. It is almost overwhelming. I'd say an entire battalion has been sent to attack us. And they're very near. Where are the others?" she asked. "I'll need all nine of you to help me – "

She didn't need to go further as the rapid pattering of black-booted feet could be heard. "Oi!" came Helen's voice. Miria turned to see her eight comrades hurrying towards her. "This is the strongest surge of auras we've ever felt! It's reverberating throughout the entire city!"

"They don't intend to raze the city just for us, do they?" said Clarice in disbelief, as they halted their sprint to stand beside Miria.

"I wouldn't be so sure," mumbled Yuma. "You saw the soldiers yesterday… they don't seem to care much for the people here."

"It's far more than just six," murmured Tabitha. "It seems that those who want us dead are now taking their mission most seriously."

"More…" mumbled Miata suddenly. Clarice glanced downwards, and saw Miata looking upwards at the sky. "More… coming… powerful… enemy…"

The other women looked up at the greying heavens. What awaited them was a most curious sight. The clouds were blocked by several large shapes, and although they were still far away, it was obvious that they were falling at a great speed.

As those objects became clearer, their true nature was discernible: they were boulders. The realization quickly dawned on the warriors as one those large boulders hurtled straight towards them.

"You're kidding," said Helen in disbelief.

"They're using catapults!" shouted Clare.

"Scatter!" commanded Miria, and the warriors dashed out of the boulder's way as it crashed into the ground, making a small crater. The ground shook as Miria looked up, her eyes wide in horrified anger.

The thundering from the distance was growing louder. She looked upwards as the sky darkened. "This… this can't be."

Several dozen more boulders from the unseen siege weapons were now flying into the city square and beyond, smashing indiscriminately into the buildings and markets, pounding the populated areas with stones carved to kill. Nearby, a man's quiet stall collapsed under the weight of a hurtling boulder, and he along with it. The rocks landed on the fragile tiles of the buildings that housed families and small businesses, burying them in the rubble of their own homes. Several fleeing people were themselves pulverized into oblivion as the falling boulders flattened them on the spot.

Moment by earth-quaking moment, the city became a grave for its own denizens.

"What the hell are they trying to do?" growled Helen. She found her answer very quickly. Another agonized pause of silence, and the _whoosh_ of arrows shot from longbows could be heard. Her eyes widened. "Oh, shit – "

A hail of incendiary arrows cut into the city, igniting an almost instantaneous inferno. They could not have come at a worse time; at a worse place. The fire that had been initiated by the oil from the sharp metal tips spread quickly, consuming the marketplace in a rapidly spreading conflagration as the flames spread from parchments to inks, to oils, to wood, to tapestries. A boy and a girl stumbled out of a destroyed shack, their bodies on fire. An explosion nearby hurled shrieking bodies upwards into the air before they landed painfully back on the ground. Bedlam accompanied the Army assault, confused cries and screams of terror overwhelming the living denizens of the city. Merchants and commoners alike fell, pierced and burnt by the arrows or smothered by the choking smoke that had now closed in through the city, strangling the life out of Darene. Most simply dropped dead on the spot.

The remaining humans in the annihilated marketplace fled with difficulty, not even looking back at the corpses of their loved ones.

Screams and cries of the dying saturated the burning plaza, a horrific nightmare of the bustling crowds that Miria had witnessed only several hours ago.

Clarice bit her teeth in tearful anger. "What in the world are they trying to do?!"

Clare had drawn her sword and was expecting a third wave of rocks or arrows to come, but when nothing could be heard save the fires and the cries of the wounded, she glared at the city gates. "It seems to have stopped."

"What a pointless, disgusting way to root us out," spat Deneve.

Cynthia clutched at Galatea. "Just… why did they… do that?"

Miria clenched her teeth. _Damn them_. "I know why. They're going to charge the gates. They wanted to flush us out of the gates; but we didn't leave the city. They must be gathering the soldiers to attack the city proper."

"Let's go out and cut them down," said Helen furiously, drawing her sword.

Miria turned to Galatea. "Please help tend to the survivors. For now, we'll fight. And if possible, return with your weapon."

Galatea hesitated for a moment, before nodding and running towards the devastated markets as Cynthia pulled out her Claymore.

Miria slid her sword from the strap on her back as well. She looked upwards at the ramparts of the city walls. The walkway up there had not been destroyed yet…

_We do not follow the Organization anymore. We will fight those who commit atrocities – human or not_.

She turned back to her friends. "Let's go. They're going to break down the gates. And when they do, we'll fight, and we'll make them pay for this barbarity," she growled.

*

"Welcome to Darene, Your Excellency." The soldier's voice was terse as he reported to the colossus riding beside him. Behind the two men shone the dazzling platinum armour characteristic of the nation's Army. Several flags of the Western Gate's emblem fluttered in the cold wind as the soldiers stood at attention, five hundred glaiveblades pointing upwards at the darkening sky. Beside the marching infantry, two divisions of cavalry trotted alongside them, riding on massive, masked warhorses trained in the fires of battle against the Descendants of the Dragons.

"The warriors of seven years past are here, according to the Organization," said the scout, as the armoured titan reined in his horse briefly. "They must be hiding in the city somewhere, waiting for the balance of power to shift between the Claymores and the Awakened Ones. Yet they seem unfazed by our initial challenge. The city should be heavily damaged by now by our arrows and boulders, but none of them have died given the surge of Yoki that remains within the city gates."

"Not surprising, given their tenacity up to now," said the Marshal, stroking his thick, brown goatee. His narrow, emerald eyes flashed as he glanced at the massive catapults that had been transported back to the nation from the frontlines. "That they could have evaded us for so long… we have underestimated these warriors," he declared. "For the sake of this nation, I refuse to make that same mistake."

"Yes, your Excellency. Shall our archers fire another volley into the city? Surely they will flee the city eventually – "

"No. Prepare the Knights and pikemen. I shall lead them into the city."

"But your Excellency, a charge into the city will – "

"Petty artillery will not flush them out of the city. It will, however, draw them out from their little hiding holes inside Darene. I will corner them with my own hand. Either way, they shall fall." The Marshal spurred his horse. "Summon the men! We attack – now!" He roared a command, and the Knights on horseback broke off from the left and right flanks, and began to initiate their unstoppable charge, lances aimed at the gate.

"So, it begins," murmured the Western Gate Marshal. "A formal war waged in the name of destroying these spectres. Very well, then… Reduce these women to dust!" roared, pointing towards the rising columns of smoke from the city.

The path to the city became obscured by sand and dirt from the surrounding plains as the hooves of the Knights' mounts increased in speed. The horses whinnied as the thundering from the charge grew deafening. The duststorm kicked up by the Knights rose upwards as they neared the gate that stood under the towering stone of Darene's walls. The giant doors, although a massive twenty-feet tall and fifteen-feet wide, was made of wood, and was no impediment to the metal weapons of the Knights. Wood splintered and collapsed as the the Knights broke through, their warhorses thundering into the destroyed city plaza. They reined in their horses, moving into the arrow-littered slaughterhouse.

It was deserted. One of Knights looked around. "What the – "

"Hey, you clumsy kids! I'm up here!" Several men looked up in surprise to see Helen descending into their ranks. She landed in the middle of the shocked Knights and roared, her Drill Arm shooting into one of them and impaling him. Blood spattered his comrades as they quickly drew their longswords, while others prepared to charge. "Too slow!" she pivoted and swung, and their arms hurtled upwards into the sky. They screamed and fell back, stabbed to death by their comrades' own charging lances.

It was a good move. The Knights could not fight at full strength; not when their horses were cramped by their own allies and the far more energetic movements of the women they sought to kill. The horses had hesitated, confused and frightened by the not-completely-human enemies of their masters, and the sudden halt had only indicated to the soldiers behind that the city was safe to occupy. Therefore they charged, and therefore they fell before Helen.

As the Knights struggled to regain their footing from her wild ambush, the other spectres leaped down from the walkway of the gate's ramparts and began to tear their way through the enemy horde. Clare's Quicksword easily sliced apart the pikes of the first line of infantry. The men were powerful; well-trained, and this time, far more well-prepared than the six soldiers of the past week. Nevertheless, they staggered back as she cut a swathe through the soldiers, Irene's arm more than a match for human strength, while Miria's New Mirage shredded three Knights into ribbons, along with their steeds.

Clare glanced up as two men brought their glaives down in a downwards slash. She calmly blocked both swords as Deneve appeared from behind and eviscerated the men with several strokes of her Claymore. "You're not even fit to share this battlefield with us," said Deneve coolly, as she turned around and decapitated two of the Knights in one stroke.

Cynthia and Tabitha hacked and cut their way determinedly through the throng of soldiers. They parried the blows of three pikemen and countered, their heightened strength and speed outmatching the rigorous training of the men. Cynthia turned just in time to intercept a swing from a Knight. For a moment, their wild eyes met. "We didn't kill your six friends because although we are no longer part of the Organization, we do not want to kill humans," gritted Cynthia regretfully. "But your cruelty leaves us no choice." _This city cries for vengeance_, she thought, as the man fell to her blade, bleeding from his chest. She had killed him as painlessly as possible, although the blood of a human on her hands, no matter how much of an antagonist, almost distracted her from countering another assault by a pikeman.

Clarice and Miata had broken through another crowd of infantry. They aimed their pikes at Clarice, jabbing at her as one. In response, Miata somersaulted forwards, bringing her sword down and splitting a pikeman in half. The two pieces of meat fell to the ground before his comrades, who turned and charged, aiming their weapons at her. Clarice blocked one sword, but was pushed back by the finesse of the others. She gritted her teeth. _These men have strategy_. She managed to slide her blade under the men who had intercepted Miata, and in one stroke, hurled their weapons away. Seeing opportunity, Miata lunged, her speed blindingly fast, and as she landed into another group of soldiers, the men behind her had already collapsed onto the bloodsoaked, their lives carved away by her Claymore.

For the moment, the former warriors had held back the horde of soldiers. Despite the initial destruction they had inflicted, the women were more than a match for the Army members who had now flooded and spread out across the city square and the gate. But Yuma was struggling. She had been surrounded by several Knights who had dismounted and were preparing to charge her. She ducked a swing from one of their longswords and rolled forward, her sword piercing into her assailant's chest. He gurgled inside his helm and folded. But just as she had pulled her sword out his chest, she felt her back twist. She cried out as a sharp sting momentarily paralyzed her body.

She had been shot by an arrow.

The archers had arrived.

"Yuma!" cried Tabitha, glancing at the fallen city gates, where soldiers of the Western Gate continued to flood through. They poured into the gates, wild in zealous fervour, determined to finish the women off. She felt a surge of pain as another arrow dug itself into her waist, causing an angry wound near her stomach. Helen roared in frustration, avenging Tabitha's wound by kicking its inflicter away, hurling him into a host of his own comrades.

Yet for every man she defeated, at least three more replaced him. For the first time, she was backing away, defending more than attacking thanks to the far superior numbers of the Army. Another rain of arrows fell upon her, and she barely managed to roll away from them. "There's too many of these guys," she gritted. "I've lost count of how many I've taken down, but there seems to be hundreds of them."

_I can't let them shoot us from a safe distance_. _I can't take anymore chances_. "Hey, ladies," she smirked, as her eyes turned yellow. "What say we open our bag of tricks on these lovely young men?" And with that, she disappeared. The soldiers blinked, but in that heartbeat, she had reappeared behind them. Five heads flew up into the sky as Helen's Yoki stirred into action. Her arm elongated into a vertiable whip as she sent it flying towards the archers. In panic, they raised their longbows to shoot at her arm, but it was far quicker than their human reflexes, and her Claymore tore into them, mauling them into unrecognizable pieces of flesh and bones. The second wave of archers released their arrows, but they were blocked by Clare's sword. Her right hand trembled for a moment, before tightening.

"You're all going to die." The archers backed away, the eyes under their helmets slightly fearful, as Clare raised her sword. Her eyes flashed yellow.

"_Windcutter_."

Screams from the soldiers were quickly silenced as the air itself was sliced apart. Clare dashed forward, moving onto the advancing Knights even as the victims from her attack toppled forwards past her. They pointed their glaives at her even as she charged into them, heedless.

As the women continued to fight off wave after wave of inside and outside the city walls, Miria led Deneve towards the gates and advanced past the roaring multitude of Knights, slicing through any who attempted to block her way. Sweat dripped down her face and her heart pounded heavily in her chest as she cut down a horseman who tried to thrust his glaive at her. _Work my way towards the commander. Ignore the rest_, she thought calmly to herself, as men continued to fall around her. She could not help her mind slipping back in time, back to the past seven years of her investigations, when she discovered that the entire purpose of the land was to function as a laboratory for controllable Awakened Beings, to have 'test subjects' experimented on to create a perfect soldier against the Dragon Tribes.

Now, this twisted nightmare of the realm was one step closer to being eradicated.

As another Knight lost his head at the stroke of her sword, she raised her face, her gaze falling upon a goliath of a man, with a broad, square-jawed, wind-weathered countenance. He looked at her with a mixture of hatred, fury, and grudging respect. "I'm impressed," admitted the burly man. "You've cut your way past the troops whom I ordered to attack this city. You have earned your reputation as dark spectres of the past; who persist in troubling the living."

Miria could not help her shock.

At last, she was looking upon one of the men who had orchestrated the strategies of the hated Organization.

*

There was no other word to describe the commander of the Western Gate. He was… simply _huge_. With flowing brown hair and a goatee matching in colour, he towered over Miria by four feet, with a giant curved sword comparable in size to a Claymore. Unlike his subordinates, he wore sparse armour, consisting of large steel greaves and gauntlets, and shoulderplates. The rest of his dark garments were protected by light padding around his chest and thighs. "At last, you reveal yourselves," snarled the Marshal, as the battle continued to rage around them. "I understand that you're not part of the Organization; and that the law to abstain from human death is no longer relevant. So you've incapacitated six of my boys; and gone ahead to kill many more. But it is not for their sake, but for the nation's ultimate survival, that I will kill you."

"There are many things worse than dying in battle, and your support of the Organization's systematic evil is proof of that," said Miria calmly. "I'm going to end that – not just against you, but against all the leaders of the Army the Organization serves."

"Enough babble. Have at you, silver-eyed witch," challenged the giant, his garbled voice turning into a roar. He unfolded his massive arms and unsheathed his equally broad blade, pointing its tip at Miria. She raised her sword up in an offensive stance, her eyes fearless.

And at an accord, they charged towards one another, swords raised. Their blades met and sent a shockwave through the city walls, hurling several unprepared Knights and pikemen upwards and sending them crashing into the battling throng. The edges of the two leaders' blades shrieked, sparks flying from the screeching metal as they struggled to overpower one another, the hateful gaze of silver eyes meeting a wild, feral stare of emerald.

A new war; a rebellion, had now begun.

Miria against the Western Gate Marshal.

The former Number Six against the supreme leaders of the Army.

Commander against commander.

Winner take all!


	5. Chapter 4: Unholy Alliance

**Chapter 4: Unholy Alliance**

The stench of smoke and burning rubble permeated the prairie that surrounded Darene. As the battle between the spectres of seven years ago and the mighty force of the Western Gate continued to rage amidst the city gates, a man and a woman crossed swords. One was a towering giant, who wielded a gargantuan broadsword with but one hand. The other swung her Claymore, undaunted by the man who had led his entire force of Knights against the city, in the name of eradicating her and the nine women she had taken under her wing. The man blocked her blade with his massive gauntlet and roared, hurling her back. She grunted in frustration. She had never fought such a strong human in her life – that is, assuming that he had not undergone some alteration to his physical body. She regathered herself quickly and pre-empted his counterattack, bringing her sword up in a classical overhead guard and swung downwards from her right. He anticipated her attack and rolled forward, dragging his sword along the ground and roughly clanging it against hers. Her eyes narrowed further as she swore to herself. "I didn't expect less from a general of the Army," she acknowledged, as she evaded a brutal swipe of his blade.

"The naivety of this land's denizens is amusing, although necessary," growled the Marshal, parrying another aggressive thrust from her. "In order to fight off the Dragon Tribes, we possess abilities that the humans of this laboratory are not even aware they are capable of. Can you not see how well I stand up against unnatural strength like yours?" he forced her back, and his metal greave found her stomach, flinging her several yards away. She managed to to land on her feet, although she tasted blood.

_No time to worry about that_. Miria somersaulted back and slashed down at him, her New Mirage unable to fool his sharp eyes. When she dashed through and attempted a finishing slash, he simply rolled past her and their blades met again. His gauntleted fist connected with her face and she felt the cartilage in her nasal region crumple. Blood spurting from her nose and dribbling down her mouth, she forced him back by striking his exposed stomach with the end of her pommel, pushing him down as she danced away.

_He is truly formidable. Even with my New Mirage, he fights me as an equal_.

She managed to slip past his punch and swing her sword again. This time he pushed down, forcing her on one knee, and pressing down, the edge of his blade an inch away from her forehead. But she did not budge. "Your people, and the Organization, created Yoma. Yoma were the experiment to which Awakened Beings would be produced and controlled; to be sent against the Dragon Kin. Then isn't it amazing that you are now fighting against the very thing you created? It's almost like…" her eyes flashed. "It's almost like you've got a revolution on your hands."

He raised his other hand. "Precisely." Miria's eyes widened as he grabbed her arm and yanked, pulling her forward. Her reflexive twist saved her from his knee, but she took the full force of his thrusting sword with the flat of her Claymore. Taking advantage of her momentary imbalance, he slammed his fist into her again and hurled her back several yards. He lunged, preparing for a final stab into her exposed body. Winded, dazed and unable to sidestep, Miria braced for impact –

The sword never came. A loud impact of metal against metal resounded on the battlefield, so loudly that the spectres and Knights seemed to pause in their fighting. Then, as if a zephyr had passed through the blood-scorched heavens, the slaughter resumed.

Long, pale hair fluttered in the wind as the Marshal stepped back in renewed apprehension. His attack had bounced clumsily off a new Claymore held in front of Miria. The former Number Six gathered herself.

"God-Eye. You took your time."

"Don't lecture me, Phantom," drawled Galatea, as they surged forward as one, slashing at the Marshal diagonally. "Helping the common people is a skill, as I'm sure you would understand." Galatea pivoted and parried the Marshal's counterattack who was forced to leap away from Miria's horizontal swing. Her New Mirage struck through his guard, and she barely scraped his moustache as he staggered away. Another bold charge, and he had lost all the ground he had gained in less than a few seconds, as the two veteran spectres hacked and cut at his tottering defences, forcing him to dodge more than he had done before. It was only a matter of time…

He growled in frustration. "If only the blind whore hadn't intervened…" he glanced at the city gates. The spectres had forced back the remainder of the Knights; of the five hundred he had led to the city, he suspected around three hundred and fifty remained behind the mountain of corpses that piled higher and higher with every surge the Knights attempted. _Compared to our nine enemies, our losses are astronomical. And we have not even advanced past the gates of this damned city_.

_Anymore, and we will not be able to hold back the Dragons at the western border. Our Gate will fall, and we cannot allow that to happen_.

"Forsaken silver-eyed witches," he snarled. He brought his hand above his head and moved his fingers in a curious gesture. From the distance, the blaring of trumpets could be heard, and the roaring throng of Knights suddenly turned. Then, as one, they began to gallop away from the city, fleeing from the spectres. Beneath the city gates, Helen and Clare blinked in surprise as the pikemen they had been dueling also began to back away, before turning and breaking into a full sprint, despite their heavy armour.

The Marshal had ordered a retreat.

He held up his sword as he backed away from Miria and Galatea. "You have this one, for now," he said, as the thundering hooves passed them by. "You'll have another rematch the next time we meet – and I will not lose."

"Quite audacious talk, for a man who murders his own people in a cowardly surprise attack," said Miria, not bothering to wipe the blood from her broken nose. "You're not even worth our disgust. Before you go hunting for dead warriors like us again, understand that the heads of spectres are the most difficult of targets."

The Marshal whistled for his own horse, and as it stopped beside him and whinnied, he shot Miria a dirty glance, his lesson unlearnt. He spurred it on, and the duststorm that it kicked up obscured his retreating back as the Western Gate division pulled back from Darene.

It took at least several minutes for the withdrawing Army to disappear entirely, only clouds of dust remaining on the horizon of the prairie.

"Thank you for your timely aid, Galatea," thanked Miria.

"My pleasure," replied the veteran. She looked back to her comrades. They stood amidst a mass, open grave. Corpses littered the entrance to the burning city, wherein lay more bodies of innocents. It would take several days to cremate all the bodies of their human attackers and horses. The mayor of Darene, hopefully, had managed to escape and hide somewhere without being crushed by a boulder or shot by an arrow.

Neither were the spectres unscathed. Yuma and Tabitha had been wounded, Yuma severely. They were sitting beside each other, and Tabitha was desperately trying to help pull the arrow out of her body which was dripping green liquid – it was poisoned. Helen and Deneve stood beside each other, sweat and blood pouring down their faces as they panted out their exhaustion. Miata had protected Clarice from the attacks of the Knights at the cost of a broken and bleeding arm. And Clare's face was blank, although it was evident that her mind was racing, pounding in her head as she blinked away the gore trailing down her head. Despite having escaped this battle with relatively light injuries, her inner core was in turmoil.

"Raki…" she murmured.

But what concerned Galatea more was the distressed Yoki of Cynthia. She brushed passed Miria and hurried to the younger warrior, who had lowered herself on one knee, propping her weight on her sword. She noticed Galatea watching her, and she attempted to smile, but Galatea was not fooled.

Not since her near-death at the hands of Dante had she felt such misery emanating from her lover. It was guilt-ridden, anguished, confused. It crippled its victim far more severely than any broken bone or sword wound could.

Galatea glanced back at Miria. "I'll leave it to you to clean up this mess." Miria nodded, and as she began giving orders to Clare, Helen and Deneve, Galatea turned back to the trembling Cynthia and placed one hand on her shoulder and another on her arm. "Come on, little kitten," she soothed, urging her back up on her feet. "I'll take you back to your room at the inn. Hold on, just for a little while longer. You can rest very soon."

Despite having suffered only a slash across her thigh and a cut across her back, Cynthia could only clutch at Galatea wordlessly as the nun gently scooped her up and carried her back to the inn that had been spared the Army's onslaught.

*

In a virgin woodland, unspoiled by the machinations of humanity, two hooded men made their way to a quiet, tranquil grove. Within the sanctum of nature, a large Claymore lay beside a cloak and a hood, discarded for the brief moment. The grove was beside a small, sighing waterfall, where a woman was drinking thirstily, quietly lapping at the springwater that had flowed in from rivers that caught the glaciers up north.

She did not notice the men until one of them spoke.

"Is this her?" muttered one of them, his voice that of a young man's.

"Yes, it is." His older counterpart stepped forward. "Greetings, Raphaela. Do you remember me?"

The woman started, and turned, raising her scarred face to look at the new arrivals. She sneered at the shorter man, whose rude, blinkless gaze remained on her. "… You're Ermita, of course. How could I forget an ugly face like yours? And who are you?" she asked, eyeing the other cloaked man. "How did you find me?"

"My apologies, but I will be asking the questions today," said the anonymous companion. His aura was gentle, almost melodic, but at the same time, mildly authoritative, like that of a stern teacher who could not help being lenient with his disobedient students. "Ermita is merely my guide. It is I who is turning the wheel of events in this land now."

Raphaela's eyes narrowed. "Why should I comply? I'm not with the Organization anymore."

"I suspected so. For you to have hidden your Yoki from the men of black robes, you would most certainly have fled their spheres of detection. I suppose, being forced to participate in an experiment that cost you your sister's humanity, and having to kill her many years afterwards, must take a toll on your trust in… men."

"You know the human heart well," said Raphaela, her voice sarcastic. "Then leave. I do not take orders from the Organization's men anymore."

"Ah yes. That. Here's the small catch – " the man shifted forwards slightly. "Ermita might be of the Organization, but I am not."

Raphaela suppressed her Yoki from leaping in shock. "What?"

"I come from across the Continents, where I have witnessed a great war between two nations. Of the two nations, one has remained on the constant advantage, and that is the nation whose citizens tower over us, whose denizens are not human. They tear us apart like wet tissue. They are fundamentally superior to our armies, for the simple fact that they are so powerful. Why? Because they are the Dragon Kin; they are the distant relations of Dragons. That they should possess such superior physique and power even after their ancestors have departed this world is simply… terrifying." He paused. "For many years, the gentlemen of Ermita's Organization has been selecting, training and arming magnificent warriors like you to become the ultimate counter against the so-called Dragon Tribes."

"Why have I not heard of these Dragon Tribes?"

"It was not yet in your place to know," said the man gravely. "In order to forge your powers in the experiment that is this realm that you live in, you and your comrades were sent by the Organization against so-called Yoma, creatures that, while nowhere near the level of the Dragon Kin, would provide a sufficient simulation. And better yet, there are always Awakened Beings. Warriors that go… wrong." The hooded man paused, as if he had determined not to reveal any more. "Your purpose is a grand one," he continued. "Whether or not you wish to remain with the Organization, you are this land's greatest warriors; the anathema against the Dragons who threaten our survival. And for that, I beg of you to defeat the traitors who threaten the Organization's endeavour."

Raphaela's eyes narrowed. "Who might they be?"

"The primary guilty are the former Number Six, Miria, and the former Number Three, Galatea. It is Galatea, however, whose powers are a great threat to the peace of the land. Recently, she joined forces with Miria, creating a faction unto themselves that rivals that of the Organization's resources as well as the blocs of the remaining Abyssal Ones. In other words, their movements threaten to tear this nation apart, jeopardizing its very survival," declared the hooded visitor. "If you will not find peace with yourself, then at least, I suggest, bring peace and stability to this land. Know that I am not asking on behalf of the Organization, but on behalf of a people weary from fighting an enemy far stronger than themselves."

Raphaela hesitated. "So… you are asking me to kill Galatea…"

The man tossed a large bag of gold pieces on the grass before her. "As insulting as this might seem, this is, for now, the least I could do to recompensate you for your sister's death, and thank you for your troubles. I will bestow far greater boons upon you, should you return with Galatea's head and fight for this nation as a true heroine."

Raphaela stared at him. "Who are you? How do you know so much about this land and the Abyssal Ones… and Lucielia?"

"Time grows short. With every passing moment, Galatea is planning to topple the institutions that protect this great land," insisted the raven-garbed benefactor. "We must not delay; we must act."

After several moments of thought, she finally turned away, taking the bag of gold. "… I'll set off tomorrow."

The hooded man bowed low before Raphaela, but Ermita hesitated before nodding uncomfortably to her. He beat a hasty retreat as the younger man wordlessly turned away and left the sun-dappled canopy of the forest grove.

"That went quite well, Your Eminence," muttered Ermita, once he believed that she could not hear them. They continued to stroll through the woods, past the old, gentle trees that obscured the morning sky. "But why did you personally come to persuade her? Even Rimuto was not expecting such drastic measures."

The other man smiled under his hood. "You should look beyond the present moment for a short time, my friend," he said. "It is as according to plan. Very soon, we shall be able to fight toe-to-toe against the Dragon Kin.

"I will now return to camp. Baudelio should be reporting to me about the outcome of the battle his commander has been fighting. I doubt this move bore fruit, but I will let the Western Gate Marshal have his fun. My overriding concern is the ultimate defeat of the Dragon Tribes. Nothing else compares in priority nor imperative."

*

The sun was setting on a weary, frightened city.

It had been two days since the Massacre of Darene.

While its citizens had suffered great casualties, the city itself had not been completely destroyed by the brutal pre-emptive attack by the Western Gate Army. In fact, apart from the obliterated marketplace, city plaza and outlying streets and buildings, damage to the rest of the urban regions had been random and scattered. After the initial shock of losing so much of its community had worn off slightly, work had begun to dispose of the many bodies that lay at the gates of Darene.

The population was in mourning.

It would not be an easy feat to recover from the suffering the people had endured.

Galatea had more pressing concerns. Although she had done her part in the counselling and succour of the survivors of the initial bombardment, the one image that remained in her mind was the lifeless face of a distraught Cynthia.

It had been slightly difficult to talk about the events of that day. On the night of the massacre, as she remained awake, staring into the blackness that was her sightlessness, she could hear Cynthia crying in her sleep beside her. Yet the next morning, she was forced to leave early, abandoning Cynthia to her work of providing sacred counsel to the survivors and bereaved of the battle.

The next day, after she had fulfilled her obligations, she made her way back from the hospices to the inn. She quietly passed by the kindly innkeeper. She walked slowly upstairs, past Clare's room and into hers. For days Cynthia had remained inside, sharing her room and bed, her own largely forgotten. Usually, their time had been spent in exchanging words of love and laughter.

But not today. As usual, Cynthia was sitting on her bed. And as Galatea entered and closed the door behind her, Cynthia smiled, though it was a weak mockery of her usual cheerfulness.

"Hi, Galatea," she mumbled. "Do I look less pale now?"

"I'm not sure, my little kitten." Galatea loosened her cloak and placed it in her small wardrobe, before sitting on her bed as well. "You… haven't changed. For two days now. Your wounds have long healed, yet you still keep your distress within. You're not guilty, if you're thinking about that," she added gently. "It is certainly a tragedy that we had to kill humans to protect ourselves and other humans, but it is most certainly not your responsibility."

"You're probably right." Cynthia tried to laugh, but what came out was a gurgle. "I… I guess it's only been two days… I suppose we all go through this sometime, right? I mean… realistically, killing Yoma and humans shouldn't feel different… as long as both remain our enemies.

"But… but… I still… I still feel… horrible." Cynthia's feeble smile disappeared, and she buried her face in her hands. "It's not how I saw them. It's how they saw us, and the innocents of Darene," she said, blinking away tears. "We might have been in great danger two days ago. But the way they so happily murdered their own people in the name of winning a war most don't even know of… and… the way they flung themselves at us as if _we_ were the Dragon Kin…" She choked back a sob. "They hate us, and we have to stop them – to kill them – if we're to survive. If we're to follow Miria. It's not just us. It's the soldiers too. We're all being hurt, murdered, slaughtered by the Organization and the Army, and that's all we know. That's all we can do, us spectres and soldiers." She breathed heavily, wiping back the tears that now ran freely down her face. "I hate this. I hate this stupid façade of an insane nation. I hate what the Army and Organization have done; to hurl men at Dragons they can never beat and at women who are despised through no fault of their own. I just wish – "

Galatea wrapped her arms around Cynthia, quietening her slightly. "I understand your torment," she murmured, her voice low, calm, and consoling. "It is a dilemma of the gravest order." Galatea felt Cynthia clutch at her tighter, and she closed her sightless eyes, kissing her forehead. "But for once, I feel relieved I cannot see your tears. It would only break my heart." She drew closer and gently licked at Cynthia's cheeks, removing her unhappiness along with her tears. She pressed her lips against her nose, and then on her mouth. "Your compassion has always remained an inspiration to me. I almost feel like my efforts to help my junior compatriots haven't been a complete waste of time.

"The suffering that you're feeling now because of your inherent kindness is a suffering I would gladly bear with you. It is not much, but for me to suffer with you is not only an honour for me, but the one thing I can do to ease your troubles somewhat." Tenderly, Galatea lifted Cynthia off herself and guided her into a resting position onto their bed, rising and pulling a blanket over her body. "Don't worry," she added, as Cynthia blinked anxiously. Galatea's gentle palm and fingers found her damp face. "I'm not going anywhere. Rest for now; doze away the pain. I will watch over you, and when you're awake, we will mourn together again; as long as you need to."

Cynthia sighed in loving gratitude, closing her eyes. Galatea smiled fondly as the other quickly fell silent in her comforting presence. Very soon, she was slumbering away, exhausted, but heartened all the same.

"My lovely kitten," were the only words Galatea could murmur as she watched Cynthia sleep.

*

Close to the inn, a woman in a sombre, grey cloak raised her head to look at the building's windows, ignoring the people that passed by her and the noises of the street.

_She is nearby – very near. Her powerful Yoki is prominent amongst this human crowd. I wouldn't be surprised if she could sense me too_.

"Former Number Three, is it?" murmured Raphaela. "So… you are here. Finding you was too easy.

"I have come for your head."


	6. Chapter 5: Interlude

Chapter 5: Interlude: His Eminence the Grand General

After several days of trekking on the slopes of an ancient, alpine woodland, the solitary, cloaked man had finally arrived at his destination.

It was no mere camp. It was a vast fortress that had been dug deep into the mountains; a small city carved out of rock. Within was a hall: wide, encompassing, and its pillars seemed to reach upwards towards the sky, supporting the hollowed-out mountain with several tonnes of marble. Above the lavishly decorated dome which had replaced the inner granite of the mountain peak, a single drilled hole exposed the ground below to the sunlight, allowing the luminosity of the day to filter through into the giant chamber. He made his way in, his light leather boots tapping leisurely on the path that had been purposely carved out of the stone under him.

The yawning entrance to the chamber was guarded by two massive, helmed men with sweeping mantles. But they stood aside quickly as the man passed by them. "Welcome back, Your Eminence," one of them said. "How did the island suit you?"

"Who was the fool who claimed it a backwater rathole? I thoroughly enjoyed it." The man loosened his own cloak and stepped into the sunlight that streamed down the holed dome, revealing his unarmoured body and the noble garments he had kept donned. His clothes were of a sparse dark grey and rich, royal purple. He was of an unintimidating height, and his hair was jet-black and his features gentle. His eyes were of a dazzling gold, and his lips were rich, constantly smiling. "I travelled with Ermita, one of the gentlemen from the Organization. He was a most satisfying guide. A most productive visit, and a pleasurable one too." Allowing his bodyguard to take his cloak, he sat down leisurely on the spartan chair that stood at the centre of the circular hall, an older architectural style that had influenced the council of the Organization. "So, where is everyone? They should be coming soon."

"Well – " the other armoured soldier stuttered slightly. "We did not expect you to arrive so early – "

He held up his hand. "No matter. For here they are. Welcome, Ambassador Baudelio. Welcome, Marshal Claudius. I suspect the siege on Darene did not go as planned?" he asked, as two men, one much larger than the other, strode hurriedly into the hall and kneeled before him, their eyes staring at the cold, stone floor and avoiding the golden irises boring down at them.

"I beg your forgiveness, Your Eminence." The Western Gate Marshal remained silent even as Baudelio began sputtering his apologies. "We've lost more than two hundred of our brave soldiers. It was a siege battle that failed, and due to its nature, we have been set aback particularly severely."

"Lord High Grand General!" growled the Marshal determinedly. "I am prepared for the consequences!"

"Yes," affirmed the other, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. "Siege warfare is particularly risk-ridden to an offensive force. Once the initiative is spent, the entire force shall be unable to make any real progress against a city's defenders."

"Ten women!" said Baudelio in disbelief. "Six men, I can understand… but defeating over two hundred?! Preposterous!" he spat. "Your Eminence! I suggest we summon the Eastern, Northern and Southern Gate Marshals to – "

"No." The Grand General's reply was stern and final as Baudelio fell silent. "I believe your part in this fiasco is over. And Lord Claudius, your authority shall be passed onto a more… competent strategist if you are defeated again."

"But Your Eminence, these women are truly formidable – "

"I understand that. I've already conversed with one of their veteran soldiers. Judging from her aura alone, she would be enough to duel you, Claudius."

"Had a blind warrior not intervened, I would have defeated their leader," gnashed the Marshal.

_Blind… warrior_? The Grand General paused, and smiled. "It is a small world."

"Your Eminence?"

"Nothing," said the Grand General, looking up and sighing. He stroked back his ebony hair. "Such strength. Such determination to defeat us. They have both courage and talent. I can only hope that my… new recruit will fulfil her obligation.

"And now, to accelerate this wheel of war. The commanders of the Dragon Kin are no doubt planning a new attack after I repulsed their offensive. That the Organization has only perfected one controllable Awakened Being is unacceptable. We cannot work on that level of time."

"But the creation of a new one will consume much manpower and resources," said Baudelio. "I've advised them that sending the Dark Ones on our frontlines is unwise."

"And so it is." The Grand General rose and raised his arms. "Currently, the former Number-Five should have engaged one of the veteran spectres in a fight to the death. However, that is not enough. You cannot topple a cypress with a dagger. Nevertheless, to send our entire Army against the renegades is both impractical and idiotic. What choice are we faced with, then?"

A smile began to spread across his face as his four subordinates awaited his directives.

His voice was casual, but his words were anything but. "We shall Awaken as many of the renegade spectres as possible, and bring them under the Organization's control."

*

Far away, in her homely cave, Riful smiled and asked Dante, "So, you think we should Awaken all ten of former Number Forty-Seven's little frienship clique?"

Dante closed his eyes. "Yes. They are _all_ worthy of your authority, my Lady."

Riful giggled, rubbing her hands excitedly. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's make preparations. I just hope no one else in this land shares this great idea of yours."


	7. Chapter 6: Révolutionnaire

**Chapter 6: Révolutionnaire**

It was nightfall.

Galatea slowly readjusted Cynthia's blanket and walked quietly out of her bedroom. She glided down the stairwell, past the rooms of her compatriots, and out of the dark inn. As she opened the door, she found herself facing another silver-eyed warrior, whose left eye had been maimed and hair cropped short. She had been waiting here for several minutes, and it was clear that she was growing slightly impatient.

She approached the warrior. "Yo," said Galatea cheerfully. "Long time no see, old friend. A marvellous technique of hiding Yoki you have there, by the way," she commended, mock-clapping her hands. "It took me more than a few minutes to realize there was a hunter after me."

_If all goes well, I'll have defeated her and gone back up to my room without waking Cynthia_.

The woman with one eye hardly acknowledged her greeting. She drew her Claymore, letting it gleam menacingly in the moonlight. "Former Number Three, is it? I have come for your head."

"Pleased to meet you again, assassin Raphaela. It seems you left the Organization with the same reasons as I, although admittedly you have suffered far more than I could ever imagine." She raised an eyebrow. "Now that we _really_ have nothing to do with each other at all, why have you come to challenge me?"

Raphaela pointed her sword at her. "Draw," she demanded.

"After fighting a general of the Army itself, I have barely any interest in dueling fellow ex-warriors," drawled Galatea. Her nonchalant expression flickered slightly as Raphaela forced her hand, clanging her sword roughly against the other's. "Really, what is your business with me?" asked Galatea seriously, as Raphaela forced her to back away.

"Army?" Raphaela paused ever so briefly. "I see. So they have also tried to eliminate you. And having failed, they were forced to send me." Raphaela took advantage of Galatea's momentary shock, and swung. Galatea blocked the blade, but it was a mistake. Raphaela's strength was so great that she was jangled, and Raphaela took advantage of her momentum and charged, hurling her into a building on the opposite side of the street. Rubble covered the sprawled Galatea as Raphaela slowly walked towards her. "But unlike them, I won't leave the job undone."

"And you still obey them, despite your non-existent affiliation with the Organization?" Galatea smiled as she stood, flinging the rubble away from her bleeding head and body. "Are you not aware that the Organization is but a pawn of the Army? That one serves as the other's arm?"

"All that I'm interested in is the preservation of what little I have," said Raphaela, dashing forward and ramming her shoulder into Galatea's exposed face. She toppled back. "If that means also, the preservation of this world, and its freedom."

"This is not true freedom," said Galatea, her Yoki floundering against the cold, ineffable void of an aura Raphaela had hidden. "It is ignorance. Ignorance that has continued for too long."

"Ignorance?" Raphaela scoffed, bashing away Galatea's sword and shooting a hard knee into her adversary's stomach. Galatea crumpled to the ground, but Raphaela kicked at her and she flew back up, only just landing on her two feet.

The former Number Three smiled. "Yes, ignorance. Ignorance that I intend to eradicate, in the name of justice."

They exchanged another succession of attacks. Galatea's arm began to trickle blood, and Raphaela felt a sting on her thigh. "Since when did your heart become so soft in a world of swords?"

"Didn't you hear?" replied Galatea, unable to suppress a smile. "I became a nun. You cannot follow God without a soft heart. Although admittedly," she added, "I've been following someone else much more important to me in the past two weeks."

Raphaela merely raised an eyebrow in reply as she raised her sword in a lowered guard. Galatea did the same. They inched closer, and their bladetips had just brushed one another when they leaped, Galatea swinging upwards and Raphaela from her side. Raphaela was quicker than her younger counterpart, and Galatea gritted her teeth as a painful wound lacerated her abdomen. The ground was bathed in blood. She staggered back, and fell. She felt Raphaela stab into her legs, and she cried out in pain, feeling metal cut into flesh and bone. She clutched at the pavement, gritting her teeth at the agony of the bone and muscle that Raphaela had torn apart and sundered.

Raphaela pulled her sword out of Galatea's thighs, her face impassive, and raised her sword for the final blow.

Galatea could not see Raphaela bring her sword down. She could only see Cynthia's face. Smiling. Laughing. Crying.

"I'm so sorry…"

But the decapitating stroke was not to come. Raphaela leaped away as her expression flickered for one brief moment. An elongated finger had stabbed at where she had just stood, and it slowly withdrew as she positioned her sword in a defensive guard.

_Awakened Being_?!

Galatea's sightless eyes narrowed. A new aura had revealed itself, and its emitter stepped out behind an adjacent building. "Who are you?" demanded Raphaela.

"One who has business with only one of you." It was a man's deep voice, and it was oddly familiar to Galatea's ears. "Stand aside, one-eyed warrior," said the newcomer. He emerged completely from the shadows, his boots tapping quietly on the pavement. "But I cannot allow you to kill her. This child… is of interest to the one I serve."

Raphaela wordlessly lunged, only to be mercilessly beaten back by a fist of steel. She staggered away, her sword vibrating from the force of his knuckles. "What… what the hell are you?" she asked angrily.

She had no opportunity to force the answer out of him as his hand penetrated into her stomach.

It had been so sudden. One moment, an imminent triumph against Galatea, and a reward from the mysterious hooded man who had employed her. Then, an unnatural hole in her body at the hands of yet another damned male warrior. Blood spilling from her mouth, she looked up in utter fury, into narrow, cold, uncaring eyes. He pulled his hand out, and she fell to the ground, unable to move. "Now, stay out of the way, old woman. You do not concern me."

Galatea gritted her teeth. "…Dante. What are you doing here?"

"A worthy question," declared Dante. He raised his hand. "To put a long story short, I am here to Awaken you."

*

Cynthia had slept for several hours, and when she forced her eyelids apart, glancing around, the moon was already beaming down upon the quiet city outside her window. She rubbed her eyes. "…Galatea?" she mumbled, her hands seeking her warmth. But she was not there. She raised herself up.

How she wondered why Galatea was not here.

_I want her to spank me again_, she thought shyly to herself. _Obeying her every whim, letting her have her way with me, is so_…

_So pleasurable_.

Despite these reflections that stirred her legs to open up ever so slightly, the unease that had replaced Galatea's presence remained. She pulled her clothes back on, stretching and looked out the window. She had expected to see a quiet street basking under the gentle moonlight.

She had not expected to see her lover and another woman wounded and helpless, vermillion dyeing the ground they must have been fighting on. But what was worse, was the man who stood before the two women two stories below, outside the inn. His face was one that Cynthia would always remember, in the darkest recesses of her heart.

The man who had almost murdered Galatea.

"No!" she whispered, horrified, her hand already reaching for her sword. "Dante!"

The Awakened Being had lifted his hand and was moving it slowly towards the helpless Galatea, when Cynthia hurled herself out of the window, the smashing and tinkling of glass shocking all three combatants. Almost unaware of her speed, she already had her sword in her two pale hands and was slashing wildly at Dante.

"This time, you're not going to lay a finger on her!" cried Cynthia. Her sword stabbed into Dante's outstretched right hand and threw it back. Galatea could not help gasping in surprise at Cynthia's superbly ruthless speed and coordination. Dante had barely recovered his right hand when she kicked him in the stomach and drew blood from his cheek as she slashed upwards. Clutching at her stomach wound, Raphaela looked on, her eyes also betraying disbelief.

Dante stood motionless, surprise registering in his eyes.

Cynthia closed the gap between herself and Dante. He closed up his guard as she began to hack at him again, allowing no opportunity to retaliate. "Get away from Galatea," she insisted. "Now!"

He calmly backstepped and danced around her, throwing several jabs and testing the distance between his fist and her sword. She calmly watched his lightning-fast fist, and then stabbed at his head. Dante weaved past and struck at Cynthia's hand, bashing open her palm and punching away her sword. "Run, Cynthia!" shouted Galatea. "You're not his equal without a sword." But the younger warrior ignored her even as Dante's fist shot out from his guard, aiming for her chin. Galatea was about to shout another warning when she fell silent. She had sensed a sudden halt in the flow of Yoki. Her jaw dropped in absolute amazement.

Raphaela's eye widened. "Im… impossible."

It was true that Dante had punched Cynthia in the face. He lip was bleeding, blood trickling out her mouth. But Cynthia's fist had also found Dante's face, and he was forced back, and heedless of her own gore, she now charged, swinging with a wild tenacity at Dante's vitals. She threw a straight, and Dante countered by digging into her stomach. But she did not even show a sign of pain as she hooked him in the face, and he was flung back again, his guard broken. His mind was racing. _How can she fight back_?!

It had not been long since they had crossed blades. But that she could even stand from his earnest attack…

Shaken into seriousness, Dante threw a jab, and then a cross. It connected, drawing the blood of Cynthia, but he blinked, and his head flew up, his chin and jawbone trembling. Although she had not drawn blood, his eyes widened in shock. _She had attacked with an uppercut so early on_?!

_Are you telling me you can take my power… and stand?_ he thought, as they struck each other simultaneously again._ Then that means, in the short time we have been apart, you must have undergone a tribulation at least as formidable as your first battle against me_. He dodged another angry swipe from her, patiently waiting for her to tire. But even if she was beginning to feel the weight of his blows, she did not show it. _Aside from Priscilla, what power in this world can possibly surpass Lady Riful and myself_? Dante parried another wild swing from Cynthia and countered, his right hook sinking deep into her cheeks. _Yet if that is not the case, there is no other explanation_.

She coughed blood, her nose and mouth bleeding from Dante's stronger fists, but she did not fall. She barely shook, despite her black eye and warped skull.

Galatea crawled away from Raphaela, grabbing her own sword. She forced herself up slightly, and raised her weapon. "CYNTHIA!" Cynthia rolled away from Dante's right cross and reached out, catching the sword Galatea had thrown. She struck a defensive stance and blocked Dante's combinations of unarmed blows, her reflexes, to Galatea's amazement, matching that of the Awakened Being's. In a gesture of almost poetic justice, she spun and slashed at his stomach. Blood dashed across the pavement once again, mixing with the gore of Galatea and Raphaela. Bleeding profusely, Dante stumbled back as Cynthia moved before Galatea, her eyes shining.

"You shall not pass," she declared quietly.

Galatea's heart surged in wonder.

_Perhaps it is your devotion to me. Perhaps it is the fear of losing me. Perhaps you've been training for hours on end without my knowledge. But to see you like this… makes me proud to be yours_.

It was quite moving, to bear witness to her junior's strength.

_Cynthia… __I'm pleased to be able to fight by your side_.

Dante also seemed to realize the change. "I admit that I took you a little too lightly, he said, rubbing at the bloody cut on his cheek. "You've eviscerated me, something that I would never have thought possible."

_I must have been bored with the many incompetent warriors I have fought over the decades_.

"Perhaps it won't be so bad to return to how it once was," he muttered. "You have forced me to acknowledge your existence as a formidable foe." And with that, he smiled, and his eyes flashed gold. He clenched his fists. "Life is accorded only to the worthy. Those who are fearless of the highest pleasure!" Cynthia staggered back as Dante suddenly appeared before her, and his hand grabbed her collar roughly. She struggled to throw him off, but he… he had changed.

_Is he activating his Awakened powers_?

Suddenly, she saw his knuckles – and then red. Blood poured down her face as she reeled back in shock. He had struck her in between her eyes.

_Damn him_ –

She felt her nose break. He attacked her, once, twice, then thrice. The force was incredible; like that of a centaur's hooves. His knuckles struck her face again and again, and before she could even roar in frustration, he had already welted her with his other hand, throwing a merciless hook from his left. He was completely silent; utterly focused on bringing about her oblivion. Cynthia felt the world flicker as her eyes began to see dots of white and black as his thundering fists gradually, agonizingly quickened, shattering her jaw, crushing the ridge of her left eye, denting her cheekbone, blackening her right eye, reducing her lips to a bloody pulp, mangling her gums into ruined blood and flesh. She felt her awareness slipping in and out. Even Galatea's enraged voice was becoming dim. After what seemed an eternity, Dante released her, and she fell on her knees, barely conscious, and ceased moving. Blood pouring liberally down her face, she moaned helplessly as Dante turned away and began to walk towards Galatea. "Now… " he raised his hand. "Where were we?" he said, ignoring Raphaela completely, who had been regenerating herself calmly. But it would be too late. It would all be too late.

Galatea swore. "Damn you," she gritted. "Why – "

"I decided that her power was worthy of respect," shrugged Dante. "She forced me to use my Awakened Powers. No mess. No fuss. Just a higher level of my capabilities." He smiled slightly. "I am now going to Awaken you, and turn you to Lady Riful's cause."

But as he prepared to attack, a surge of powerful Yoki suddenly enveloped the surrounding streets. They could all sense it, but Galatea was the most affected. "Cynthia!" she gasped.

Dante raised his eyebrow, and turned his head. "You surely jest – "

His eyes, for the first time, widened in sincere, true astonishment.

"It… cannot be."

Cynthia had raised herself up on one knee. Her entire body trembled, and her bloodied lips were bubbling incoherently. "I… won't have it…"

Raphaela looked at Galatea. _What in the world is happening_?

The guttural voice that emerged from the back of Cynthia's throat would be Raphaela's answer. "I won't have it… I won't let you take her away from me again… I WON'T HAVE IT!!" she roared, and a vortex of visible Yoki swirled around her, shaking the very ground and creating gusts of wind that began to rattle the windows of the street's buildings. The earth trembled as her wild emotions began to eat into her, revealing the dark beast that lurked within all silver-eyed witches – the Yoma.

"Stay calm, Cynthia!" shouted Galatea, her voice pleading. "Anymore and – "

"DANTE!!!" roared Cynthia, and her body began to regenerate, wounds on her face closing up. But at the same horrific time, her teeth began to elongate. Her countenance turned bestial, hateful, monstrous. The Yoma within her was overpowering her strength to resist, her humanity. Her eyes, her mouth, began to warp. As the Yoki continued to swirl around her kneeling form, saturating the air with power, Raphaela looked on in horrified astonishment, while Galatea screamed Cynthia's name. Her hand reached for the transforming Cynthia, calling desperately for her lover's name.

Dante smiled, wiping the blood from his mouth, and his smirk was one of pure satisfaction. "This was not according to the plan, but it is welcome all the same. One of the spectres is now Awakening. My Lady, your new follower is on her way."

As her features continued to mutate, a single tear slipped down Cynthia's darkening face. Her garbled, deepening voice had become a whimper.

"Galatea… help me…"


	8. Chapter 7: Guiding Light

**Chapter 7: Guiding Light**

_Cynthia. I know it's a bit too late to say this. I've never enjoyed talking about how I feel about people I care about. The more I care, the less I want to tell_.

_The greatest trial of my life, you might say, was when I first tried to kiss you in my church. All I had wanted was to touch the girl who had given me so much kindness. All I wanted was to return the affection I thought I had received from you._

_Yet, everything seemed to go crazy from thereon_.

*

_You know Cynthia, you have no idea how difficult you made my life. You have no idea how helpless, how frightened I felt. I was – still am – terrified by the affection I feel towards you. I wish to dominate, to possess you, my little kitten, and you are all to willing to let me do so – _that_ is what terrifies me. _

_That very first time we made love was in the lake. We did so again, on several occasions, in my bedroom when we arrived in Darene – when the others were out of sight, you barely lived in your own room – you had followed me upstairs, your legs wrapped around me as I carried you by your buttocks, ravishing you as you ravished me. It was only when I had slammed the door behind me, that you could tear yourself away from me, waiting impatiently for me to join you in bed. _

_You had slipped off your clothes. I could hear you taking them off. When I responded by doing the same, we ensured we were alone, unlike that incident at the loch. Satisfied, you sidled up to me, pushing yourself playfully against me. I could already feel our nipples hardening on both our bodies. You confessed that although we had kissed and touched and embraced so many times before, you still felt shy whenever you were naked before me._

_Despite my sightlessness! You are a silly girl._

_"Are you sure you want this?" I remember asking while stroking the tails of your hair._

_You nodded, burying your face deeper in my breasts._

_It was more than I could bear. I carried you onto my bed and made love to you there, so that I could fulfil your hopes of me. _

_As I took hold of you and made you my home, all I could hear were your cries of ecstasy and your loving words of praise and encouragement. How wonderful it would have been if I could look upon your face. I can imagine it now: those eyes were scrunched closed in pleasure as my fingers worked their magic. Your lips were flushed red as you took my fingers in your mouth and sucked on them like the naughty girl you are. Your flesh was adorably sore and pink as I punished your saucy intentions by mercilessly slapping your derrière even as I continued to pleasure you. _

_Was I truly punishing you, or had I truly admitted defeat at the hands of my own junior warrior? I don't know._

_Afterwards, as we embraced in exhausted and amorous satisfaction, I could see your smile, your wet, beaming face, clear as the light of day. It is tantalizingly clear in the blackness of my eyes, the wonderful moments of intimacy we shared. Passionate, tender, agonizing, painful, addictive, helpless, empowering, humiliating, glorious. _

_I'll never admit it because I'm no weakling. But your kindness, love and compassion have enchanted me. I don't want to lose this blessing from God._

_I don't want to lose you._

*

_Cynthia. I love you. I will not let you Awaken. Just as I helped Clare pull back from the Abyss, I will do the same for you. _

_I'm not sure how far I can influence your Yoki. But I will do my best._

_I don't know how I could deal with you being a Yoma. Perhaps I'd kill you with my bare hands, weeping your name. Perhaps I'd lose my will to live, and let you kill me._

_Perhaps… it doesn't need to be that way._

*

Cynthia blinked, her eyes wet with tears and blood. She let out a soft murmur as she found herself in Galatea's arms, her body her own.

The city was quiet. The buildings were quiet. Everything was quiet.

Dante had fallen silent. Raphaela was propped on one knee, staring at her in utter disbelief. Even the wind had stopped rustling, as quickly as it had begun to howl when her Yoki became uncontrollable.  
Yellow eyes once again silver and her voice no longer guttural and distorted, Cynthia looked at Galatea, her lip trembling. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she clutched at her senior's back. "I…. I… I…?" she stuttered, barely able to move her mouth. "Safe…? … I'm still… human…?"

Yet again, silence.

And then came the words that brought strength back into her body, and into her heart once more.

"Welcome back, kitten," came Galatea's slightly irritated voice.


	9. Chapter 8: Bloodsoaked Dawn

**Chapter 8: Bloodsoaked Dawn**

_The night was no longer quiet._

_Cynthia had not completely Awakened. But she had reached her limit. Tears slipping down her face and her body losing all semblance of control, she had pounced, tearing into Dante. His lightning-fast reflexes were no match for Cynthia's claws. They had mutated; mutated into horrific bladed appendages that reminded Galatea of the sharp metal ornaments worn by nobility of old. Dante had slid back, his forearms bleeding profusely. His eyes flashed as he barely rolled out of Cynthia's way. Without a word, he began to tap into his full strength. _

_Any more and he would have underestimated her._

_Dante roared, his body distorting. Light blasted upwards from the sundered ground. As the smoke cleared from his body, his Awakened countenance was revealed. _

_His true form was not much larger, although his fists had transformed into giant maces, spikes protruding menacingly from the spheres of hardened matter. His eyes glowed a deep red, his head resembling that of a bird of prey. He still stood on two legs, but his clothes had burst from his released compression, rendering his taut, muscular body completely naked. He stared at Cynthia, red mist issuing from his beaked mouth. He lunged, slashing at her. Jagged teeth protruding from her mouth and eyes wild with hatred and fear and despair, Cynthia raised her claws to meet his attack – _

_"CYNTHIA, NO!" roared Galatea. "YOU CAN'T CONTROL THIS ANYMORE!"She glanced back as she head the banging of doors. Her eyes widened, but this time with a slight surge of hope. "Miria! Clare! You took your time," she snapped. "Hurry. Give me a hand here!" The eight Ghosts had rushed out of the inn door to aid their comrades. But not even Miria was prepared to witness Cynthia in the throes of Awakening. Miria glanced at Tabitha, and the two quickly moved to restrain Cynthia. They held her back with their swords as Clare, Deneve and Helen launched themselves at Dante, who turned and swung his arm. It elongated, and his mace-hand hurtled towards Deneve. It smashed into her raised sword and flung her several yards away. She smashed into a building and it collapsed on her._

_"You'll pay for that!" snarled Helen, her eyes turning yellow. Her arm elongated and shot towards Dante in a curved trajectory. Dante responded by swinging his mace again, but was stopped by Clare, who had intercepted his other hand with her Windcutter technique. They traded blows briefly, before breaking away._

_"No matter," said Dante quietly. "I will Awaken every single one of you." He lunged, and swung his fists at Clare. Clare stopped one of them, but the other had struck from behind, and she felt her back crumple under the force of his mace. She coughed blood and collapsed, sprawling along the ground. Dante raised his two fists to give the finishing blow, but Helen blocked him by pushing him aside with a rough shoulder barge. Clare struggled back up and thrust at Dante again. He was about to defend against her stab when it suddenly became a Windcutter, slicing aside his arm. He leaped back, preparing to regenerate, but Helen had anticipated his defensive strategy, and her drill sword punctured his chest even as he futilely attempted to block Clare's Swift-Sword from slashing apart his abdomen._

How could this have happened to me...? _he mused absently to himself_.

_Dante's body was now sundered from the combined attacks of Helen and Clare. He had managed to combat them one-on-one, but he had never expected to be lethally wounded in two places by two attackers. _

_As Clare severed his last mace and Helen drilled apart his spine, his body began to revert back to his human form. His face was matted with blood and his upper body severed of arms and organs. He staggered forward. His eyes glazed over, his voice bitter. "So this is where… it ends," he muttered, as he fell before Clare. He slammed into the ground and moved no more. _

_Dante, one of the last Awakened Ones of the old world, had passed away._

_"Get out of here if you want to live, Raphaela," commanded Galatea, struggling back up. "Forget the Organization. Forget the Army. You've got your own life to save."_

_"I will not go back on my word," said Raphaela. "But – " she paused, slightly hesitant. "I will allow you to put an end to your comrade's misery."_

_Galatea nodded, looking at Cynthia. She began to move forward."Thanks for your help," she said, passing Miria and Tabitha, who were covered in her own blood. "We barely made it through. I'll take it from here," she added. _

_"Are you sure?" asked Miria, who had pointed her sword at the shrieking Cynthia, her face barely recognizable. "Surely you need our help."_

_"I said, I will take it from here. I will bring Cynthia back to us."_

_Miria glanced at her, and nodded._

_"Be careful," said the Phantom warrior, as she beckoned the others to follow her back into the inn. Helen rushed to help Deneve whilst Clare wordlessly followed Miria's orders. As the others backed away, Galatea took Cynthia in her arms. Her face softened, and she began to struggle against Cynthia's Yoki. Her own Yoki surged, as she prepared to save her junior from the final stage of Awakening._

_"Cynthia," she murmured._

"_My beloved…"_

*

As she came to her senses, Cynthia stared at Galatea, beads of sweat rolling down her face. Her wild eyes wandered, and her gaze fell upon Raphaela, who stared at her in silent awe. She glanced past the former Number Five, and caught sight of the silent corpse of Dante. Although somehow he had died a violent death, it seemed his expression was mysteriously one of peace. But that was only a guess. She raised her tear-soaked gaze upwards, meeting Galatea's warm countenance. "Welcome back, kitten," said the blind woman, embracing her.

_What… what happened to me_…?

"Oh, Galatea…" Cynthia clutched at her, pressing her face against Galatea's bloody chest. "What did I do…?"

"You scared me, that's what happened." The blind Galatea scowled down at Cynthia, helping her up with some difficulty. She clenched her teeth at the pain that still shot through her stomach and thighs. "We're going back inside. You need rest."

"But – "

"No buts," said Galatea sternly, as she carried Cynthia up and towards the door to the shaken inn. "You're going to recuperate. And that's final."

"So… is it over now?" mumbled Cynthia, glancing at Raphaela, who remained silent, her head bowed towards the ground.

"It is. Don't speak. I'll tell you everything that happened when we're inside. I'll be back for you," she added to Raphaela. "We need to talk. We… all need to talk." Her voice was serious. "If you think anything in this fiasco's been settled, you're dreadfully wrong. Meet me here in the morning. I've told you before, this is not the time to be fighting amongst ourselves. We have a greater threat to bring down."

Raphaela remained silent, avoiding the gaze of her commissioned target.

*

Deep in her cave, Riful closed her eyes. Dante's Yoki had faded rapidly away, and before she could even grasp his last gasp of an aura, it had also slipped from her consciousness, dissipating as if it had remained in the world longer than it should have.

Now, all she had was Dauf.

Dante had fought well.

She pouted. "Stupid…"

She slipped off her chair, smoothing down her pink dress.

It was time to go.

"Do I have to do everything for you?"

*

News of the recent defeat had reached the frontlines.

In the mountainous hall which served as the Grand General's stronghold during his stay in the Continent, ambassador Baudelio's voice rung out shrilly, almost like as if he had been personally spurned by a lover. But this recent situation had gone far beyond that of a personal insult. "Raphaela has been defeated," he reported, kneeling before the Grand General. "And one of the Awakened Ones has made their move, only to meet death at the hands of those damned spectres as well." He paused, gnashing his teeth. "Is there no one who can remove these obstacles to our final victory against the Dragon Kin?"

Silence. The Grand General himself remained quiet, tapping his chin leisurely as he pondered solutions in his head. His soft, gentle face was troubled, and his full, thick lips had curled in dissatisfaction. He brushed back his black bangs. As his dark grey and royal purple garments glimmered in the brief sunlight, his golden eyes also flashed. "Very well," he said eventually, gesturing outwards with his hand. "Here are my orders. Take seven armies to reinforce the remaining scouts in Darene. I doubt the spectres will remain in the city for much longer. Therefore, we shall give chase."

Baudelio stopped in his tracks, unsure if he heard correctly. _Seven armies_?! "Seven armies, Your Eminence? Led by whom?" he breathed.

"Not by Lord Claudius, of course," laughed the Grand General. "I have… placed the Western Gate Marshal out of commission for the time being. Instead, I have selected seven of my most capable commanders to move against Darene. Seven thousand men, led by seven warriors whom I believe can match… no, surpass… the power of the Ghosts. These seven are my Pacifying Generals, the greatest force of suppression I have been able to muster without compromising our defences against the Dragons." He waved his hand. "Please enter, Lord David, my Northern Gate Marshal." A tall, well-built man with long blond hair longer and copper eyes entered the hall from one of the many entrances past the mountain catacombs. Characteristic of the Army leaders, he wore a cloak underneath a suit of plate metal. At his side was a trenchant bastard sword. He positioned himself before the Grand General, bowing slightly while eyeing Baudelio with disdain.

The Grand General smiled as he noticed David's scorn. "Southern Gate Marshal Lord Frederick, and Eastern Gate Marshal Lord Antonius. You may also enter." Two large men, as if in calculated tandem, made their way into the hall together. They did not wear cloaks, but they were heavily armoured, in a similar manner to David, but Frederick's short hair was a mop of brown while Antonius had jet black hair like that of the Grand General. Frederick had a longsword sheathed by his side, whilst Antonius wielded a giant polearm. They moved to stand beside the Northern Gate Marshal. An air of rivalry was palpable amongst them.

Nevertheless, together, the three generals kneeled before the man on the throne.

The Grand General nodded approvingly. "The Marshals have gathered as part of my campaign. Now, to summon the remaining four Pacifying Generals."

"Who might they be, Your Eminence?" asked Baudelio somewhat anxiously.

His superior smiled. "You'll find my selection… most intriguing."

He clapped his hands once. "Lady Alicia. Lady Beth. Please step forward." At his command, two young women, clad entirely in black, moved forward from the shadows and stood before the Grand General. They were blonde and fair, but their eyes were completely devoid of any emotion, any warmth. They were truly mindless, only able to obey the orders of the Organization or the Grand General. Although the three Marshals dwarfed them, the men still eyed them with caution. But the Grand General was unafraid. "Welcome, sisters," he said, his voice warm. "I trust you have eaten generously?"

Baudelio's eyes widened. _The Black Ones?! Has His Eminence gone this far_?! he thought wildly.

The Grand General continued, "I truly do apologize for delaying your transfer to the Isles of the Dragons. For now, we face a truly formidable foe within this very Continent, and I require your aid. The real war will have to wait. So, please endure this. It will be over very soon."

Alicia and Beth nodded, silent.

The Grand General smiled. "And last but not least…

"Lord Isley and Lady Priscilla. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Baudelio suppressed the overpowering urge to flee the chamber as a tall, blond man emerged from the shadows, his hand on the shoulder of a small, chocolate-haired girl. The man called Isley, who was cloaked in blue and grey, bowed before the Grand General. "I trust your integrity, Lord Carmelo. Ever since the Northern Campaign, I have recognized your most wise hand in the events that directed the acts of the Organization. But after this last service, I expect my boon. Your end of the bargain most certainly shall be kept, lest I…"

"Yes," affirmed the Grand General. "Once the Organization has replicated the success of Alicia, this Continent will be of no use to me. Neither will we hunt or confront your kind any longer. Instead, this Continent will be reduced," he smiled, "to your banquet table. I do hope your lovely consort will enjoy my most generous offer," he added, nodding at Priscilla, who gazed blankly at the ceiling. "This world will only know peace once we remove these so-called 'Ghosts' along with the Dragon Kin. After this, Awakened Beings will no longer be synonymous with evil. With the sacrifice of this Continent, the memory of all this pain, all this bloodshed… will simply fade away.

"Commanders!" At the Grand General's raised voice, the Pacifying Generals rose, and stood at attention before him. He spread his arms. "This day, we stand at the dawn of a new world. One that shall require sacrifice. One that shall not have struggled in vain. One that shall be free from the threat of the Dragons."

"Yes, Your Eminence, Lord Carmelo," boomed the congregation of Generals.

He paused. "As the Awakened Being failed in his task, it is my reluctant duty to announce: it is your turn to try," he chuckled, "and Awaken our fine ladies to perfection. And should you fail…" he smiled, his voice and composure completely serene.

"I will personally lead my Jackal Guard to the plains of Darene, for a final confrontation with the Ghosts."


	10. Chapter 9: Scorched Heavens

**Chapter 9: Scorched Heavens**

Summary of current events:

After so many years of wandering, searching, and fighting, the Ghosts, who had been joined by Galatea, Miata and Clarice, discovered that the Army of the nation, which had been waging war against the mysterious Dragon Tribes, was responsible for the creation of the Organization, as well as the experimentation of Awakened Beings being conducted on the Continent. As the bloodshed continued, the supreme commander of the Army, Grand General Lord Carmelo, was revealed to have orchestrated everything on the continent since the beginnings of the Organization. Now, the final battlelines had been drawn. After receiving news of not just the Western Gate Marshal's defeat at the hands of the Ghosts, but of Raphaela's as well, he formed a vast force of seven armies to personally initiate the Awakening of the Ghosts, and consolidate his vision of victory against the Dragon Kin. Leading these seven armies were his Pacifying Generals: the Eastern, Northern and Southern Gate Marshals Antonius, David and Frederick, the Organization's Black Twins, Alicia and Beth, and the Abyssal One Isley and his consort Priscilla.

The curtain was about to fall on the bloodiest battle in the history of the Continent: the Battle of Darene Plains…

*

_Afternoon. Outside the city of Darene_

"What's up, Miria?" asked Helen, as the Ghosts gathered around their de facto leader. They had made their way out of the partially rebuilt city gates, "Are we leaving Darene?"

Miria nodded, looking towards the distant clouds of dust that could only be stirred by the thundering hooves of warhoses. "Yes. I suspect… we are very close to facing the mastermind behind the Organization and everything that has happened up to now."

"How so?" asked Helen, puzzled. "Oh yes," she looked at Galatea, "what in the world happened to the woman who was fighting you and Dante two nights ago?"

"I had… a talk with my prospective assassin early this morning," said Galatea, feeling the grip of Cynthia's hand on her arm tightening. "I'm not sure if I managed to convince her, but she's left Darene now. I've directed her to a more… suitable person for the answers she seeks."

Miria looked out towards the plains. "We must keep the city safe," she murmured. "There will be no more incidents like the Siege. We'll move out towards the prairie. We'll block their way before they even come close to the gates. And we'll defeat them there, on the plains of Darene."

Deneve nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"It looks like they're not holding back anything this time," observed Clare, as the clouds grew even larger. "I don't know how long we can hold against these enemies."

"We shouldn't think about that just yet," snapped Helen. "Come on!" she said, gesturing to Clarice, Miata, and Yuma. "We've got a battle to win."

With a nod, the Ghosts began to move out, advancing to the plains beyond the city. There, no innocents would be harmed. There, the Continent's fate would be settled.

A cloud hung over them as they strode to their last battle together…

*

The flags of the Army were billowing powerfully as the wind blew against the expeditionary force.

Amidst his warhorse and surrounded by thousands of marching men and heavy cavalry, Marshal Frederick raised his arm. "We will defeat the former Number Six and put an end to the war against the Dragon Kin!" he declared. "This will be the final battle. Be prepared!" He gestured outwards with his sword, and the Knights began to spread, riding out towards the ten tiny pinpricks of black. His eyes narrowed. "We will crush these annoying insects under our greaves once and for all." His voice rose as the Knights broke away from his battalion completely, charging towards the nearing Ghosts. The divisions of the Army spanned across the entire horizon, its soldiers flooding the sandy plains. "Forward! Leave nothing of Darene and her guardians standing!"

The seven armies roared their obedience.

This day, the Ghosts would kneel before His Eminence, the Grand General!

*

The Army's initiating of hostilities was quite obvious from a distance. As the multitude of Knights charged, Miria's pace quickened. She beckoned for the women behind to follow her. "Do not worry about the Knights, or the infantry. Punch through their formations and attack the commanders directly," she said calmly. Her eyes flashed. "I will adopt the strategy Rigardo used against us during the Northern Campaign. Right now there are…" she closed her eyes. "Four, five… seven powerful auras. We'll defeat those seven warriors, and then this will be all over."

"But what about the other soldiers?" asked Clarice. "We barely survived against five hundred, let alone these many thousands. The Army won't just – "

"Leave that to my friends," interrupted Clare quietly. "Miria's foresight is formidable. Knowing it was only a matter of time before the Army attacked Darene again, we arranged for someone to help us gain some semblance of a fair fight."

"Friends?" said Clarice. "Who?"

Galatea suddenly broke into an exasperated grin even as the Knights became completely visible, closing several yards with every gallop their warhorses strode. "No, it cannot be."

From the west, another massive cloud of dust was approaching. Suddenly, as the massive army of Knights aimed their lances at the sprinting Ghosts, the right flank of the Army was torn apart. Horses and men were hurled into the air as a cavalry attack pierced through the charging body of Knights. From the safety of the formation's rear, Frederick balked at this unexpected counterattack. "What?!"

A boyish cry of glee sounded above the pandemonium. "Hurrah!" yelled the young man called Cid, urging his horse on and thrusting two knives into the head of a struggling Knight. Behind him, Galk led the charge, his lance smashing through another group of completely unprepared Knights. Followed by several hundred horsemen, they cleaved a path through the side of the dispirited cavalry. "Damned mainland soldiers, attacking their own people!" roared Galk, drawing his sword and cutting down a soldier who tried to attack his horse's legs. "Let's see if you're so high and mighty when you're dealing with the elite guard of Rabona!"

"Keep these bastards occupied," said Cid, as he commanded the horsemen to spread out and hold back the Army's initial wave. "Give the ladies enough time to penetrate the secondary lines of defence." They charged, disrupting the movement of the Army's attack and temporarily halting their advance towards the city.

It was a heartening sight. "Yeah!" cried Helen, as the distance slowly closed between the Ghosts and the Knights, this time to the Ghosts' advantage. "Now _that's_ a real rough- up!" She glanced at Clare. "Miria's strategy's freakin' miraculous!"

"Now's our chance!" urged Miria. "The odds have evened out, if only a little. Go!" Miata, Galatea and Helen sprinted towards the floundering horde of Knights and somersaulted high into the air, their momentum propelling them past the jabbing polearms, halberds and spears. Clare and Miria landed and began to tear their own way through the roaring throng of soldiers. "Thank you for coming when you did!" cried Miria, as she decapitated a pikeman about to strike Galk's horse.

"On behalf of Father Vincent and the heroines of Rabona, we've come to defend Darene from the true enemies of the nation!" affirmed Galk, breaking into another charge against a division of Knights that had separated from the commanding unit. "Leave this to us, Miria!" The allied horsemen rode past her, hurling themselves at the soldiers of the Southern Gate. "Do what you have to do!"

Miria closed her eyes. "I won't let you down." As she opened them, yellow irisies viewed the raging battle in clarity. She charged, knocking down a dozen Knights in one dash. In one fell swoop, she smashed aside an entire row of pikemen who dared to block her way. She leaped up and aimed her sword straight at a blond-haired man who remained at the centre of a throng of elite bodyguards. She roared her fury. "You're not going to get away with this, you monster!"

The man looked up, and his large eyes shone with pleasure. "Hello there, leader of the Northern Campaign," smiled Isley. "Let us enjoy ourselves today."

*

As bedlam reigned around them, Helen, Deneve, Tabitha and Yuma stood in front of a pile of Army corpses, facing the three Marshals of the Gates: Frederick, Antonius and David. "So, you've come this far. In honour of that, we shall destroy you by our own hands!" declared David, raising his bastard sword. David drew his longsword, and Antonius steadied his polearm.

Deneve licked her lips. "Let's go." She lunged, attacking the Marshal with the polearm. Antonius riposted with surprising speed, digging the end of his staff weapon into Deneve's stomach. Deneve staggered back, and Helen moved forward, swinging brutally against him. Antonius parried and David leaped over him, slashing at Helen. They exchanged a flurry of blades, with David gaining a slight advantage. Deneve intercepted Antonius, but he was prepared and flung her back, his greater strength offsetting her balance. His eyes flashed, and he began to advance.

Tabitha and Yuma had engaged Frederick with difficulty. But Frederick was stronger, more experienced and faster than his opponents. In one stroke, he cut across Tabitha despite her anticipation of his move, and as Yuma moved to help Tabitha, he raised his bastard sword and slashed at her legs. She screamed as she fell to the ground, unable to move. Frederick shouted in triumph and moved to assist Antonius. Antonius had pushed Deneve back, his polerarm overcoming her sword. "Now you persih!" cried Antonius. "Begone!" In a surprise move, he released his weapon, hurling it directly at Helen's body. Having just regained her footing, she could not raise her weapon in time –

Helen dashed in front of Deneve and blocked Antonius' finishing blow, bashing the projectile aside. The polearm clattered to the ground. Immediately, Antonius made a dive for his weapon. But as he did, Helen's eyes turned yellow. "DIE!" she roared, her arm suddenly elongating and shooting at Antonius. Caught mid-air, the Eastern Gate Marshal's body was skewered by Helen's sword, blood spurting from his armour. He gurgled in shock and tumbled along the ground. Helen retracted her arm triumphantly, but she had done so too early. Frederick's bastard sword emerged from her chest, and she gasped in shock. Frederick emerged behind her, his soulless eyes alight in victory. With one savage twist, he wrenched his sword out from Helen's body.

"Impressive. But this is as far as you go," sneered Frederick.

"HELEN!" screamed Deneve, as her lifelong comrade crumpled to the ground. In fury, she somersaulted over Frederick, and in one enraged slash, decapitated him. The Marshal's eyes, wide and disbelieving, remained open as his head hit the throng of Knights behind him. Roars of despair and fear resounded as the soldiers panicked at the death of one of their commanders. David quickly blocked Deneve's way, raising his longsword.

"In the chaos of battle, there is no time to grieve, young lady," he said, lunging. Blinking back tears, Deneve pushed him back. He attempted another riposte, but she anticipated his counterattack and swung upwards, denting his armour with her pommel. He leaped back and steadied his sword, before lunging and attempting a full-powered thrust against her. Deneve calmly stood her ground, and as the longsword shot towards her head, she ducked, diving and tackling him to the ground. Before he could scramble up, she had straddled him, raised her sword, and plunged it into his chest.

The moment stretched itself out. After several moments of disbelieving silence, the dying Marshal spoke. "How could this be… to lose to silver-eyed witches like you…" he groaned. He let out one last sigh, and moved no more.

The Three Marshals were defeated. But Helen was on the brink of death as well, and Tabitha and Yuma remained silent. Were they dead as well…?

All around her, her comrades were falling. How could it have turned out this way?

"No," whispered Deneve, staggering towards Helen. "No…!"

She could say no more, as a spear from behind impaled her through the chest.

It took a long time to fall.

*

Galatea and Cynthia had detached themselves from the rest of their comrades, but for now, it was impossible to reunite with them in the chaos of the current struggle. Amidst thousands of soldiers, they fought determinedly to survive, and to carry out Miria's last order. Together, they fought.

Side-by-side, they held back the Knights from following their leader's trail.

And as one, they faced, amidst the dying Knights and Rabona riders, two young women who blocked their way. Clad in complete black, Alicia and Beth stared at Galatea and Cynthia, their eyes emotionless. Galatea's white eyes widened. "It… it's you…"

The Number One and Two of the Organization, in the flesh.

Alicia took a small step forward.

Galatea did the same. "…I've always wanted to speak with you," she declared, her voice surprisingly quiet for someone amongst hundreds of roaring soldiers. "Ever since I saw you fighting for the first time, I have wanted to convince you to flee the Organization. Perhaps even by my side."

Alicia remained silent.

"We are not trying to destroy you," said Galatea. "We are here to defeat the people who we all once called our contractors, our masters. Please understand this. If you do, then step aside. We can settle any quarrel you have with us later. For now, the fate of this Continent and its people are at stake."

Beth closed her eyes.

"Galatea, watch out!" screamed Cynthia suddenly.

Galatea backed away as Alicia began to grow. An agonizing crunching sound, and Alicia's transformation was complete. Suddenly, her bladed appendages struck out at Galatea with blinding speed. Galatea grunted in pain as the overpowering force hurled her back, smashing into a unit of pikemen, who crumpled under the sheer weight of Alicia's attack. "No!" she cried, scrambling back up. But it was too late. The soul-link was complete. Beth was completely in control of Alicia's psychic domain, while Alicia could unleash her Awakened powers with impunity. "Cynthia!" roared Galatea, as she rolled away from the scythe-like hand of Alicia. "Quickly! You must get behind Alicia and strike at Beth! _Do not kill her_!" Cynthia nodded and moved to comply, but was stopped by Alicia's other hand. The Awakened warrior was only a little taller than the other two, but her strength was tenfold. "Cynthia, hurry!"

It was a craven, almost cowardly strategy. But it was the only way to save the Twins from the clutches of the Organization.

The former Number Fourteen calmly somersaulted forwards and dodged another angry slash from Alicia. She rolled behind her and dashed straight for Beth. Alicia turned, and with lightning fast speed, pursued Cynthia. But Galatea blocked her bladed hand with her sword. "You don't have to do this. This is what he Organization wants. But is what they're doing really going to save this land?" Alicia shifted and charged, smashing Galatea aside. She ignored the pain, grabbing hold of Alicia's arm so that she could buy Cynthia time.

Heart pounding, Cynthia had managed to avoid Alicia's lethal attacks. At last, several yards away, near the battling horsemen of Rabona and Army Knights, stood Beth, her eyes closed, her full concentration focused on restraining Alicia. She was still completely unaware of Cynthia, who had managed step around.

Cynthia raised her sword behind the defenceless Beth.

"Forgive me," she whispered remorsefully. She brought her Claymore down onto Beth's shoulder. Beth's eyes suddenly opened, and she screamed in pain, dropping to the ground. The wound Cynthia had inflicted on her upper body was comparatively light, but was painful enough to hurl her concentration away. With her mind unable to maintain the soul-link, Alicia began to transform back. She shrieked in panic and fright as her body lost control, and her mind lost its vestiges of humanity.

It was not too late.

Galatea leaped upwards, aimed her sword, and plunged the entire length of her Claymore into the struggling Alicia's brains. Her blade cracked the tough shell of her Awakened head, piercing through its protective casing and burying itself deep into her throbbing, pink, neural flesh. Blood spurted from her skull as Galatea despairingly thrust deeper. Would this pain ever end?

There had not been enough time for Alicia to recover from the sudden, lethal attack. Tottering, the young girl toppled to the ground even as Galatea leaped away, bloody sword in hand. A loud, horrible slam. She groaned, whimpering in pain. Her eyes clouded over, and her body reverted back into its human form. Beyond the demonic black armour she wore, it looked as if she had been truly murdered, her life cruelly cut short by conditions beyond a small girl's control.

But it was too late. There was no other way. The Organization's Number One, Alicia, was now dead, dead even before she had truly lived.

Gritting her teeth, Cynthia resisted the urge to cry, turning around and slashing aside another pikeman's weapon as the uncaring battle continued to rage around them.

Galatea rushed over to Beth, who was lying on her back, breathing heavily and fearfully. She took the wounded child in her arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" gritted Galatea, closing her eyes as her body shaking with anguish and woe. She held Beth closer, her lip trembling. "You will not die here. I swear to God himself. I will protect you."

Beth blinked softly, her eyes clearing.

Galatea felt herself fall deeper into an abyss of desolation. _What have I done_…?

"Can you speak?" whispered Galatea tearfully, ripping cloth from her own garments and pressing it gently against Beth's wound, stemming the loss of blood slightly. "Please, say something. Anything."

For a moment, the younger woman remained silent.

"Where… where is my sister…?" she finally murmured.

Galatea's head slumped, her nose pressing softly against Beth's tear-stained cheek. "I'm… so sorry, my child… I… I… had no choice… but to end her life. in order to free you ever so slightly from the prison the Organization had forced you in."

Beth's face fell, and for the first time since she was captured by the Organization, she began to weep, tears flowing freely down her bloody countenance.

Galatea let out a soft cry of helpless mourning.

_How dare they… how dare they do this to you…? How dare… we do this to you? You… you are… only children_…

*

Across the battlefield form where Alicia had fallen, Miria's sword slammed against Isley's arm. A trickle of blood flowed from his slim limb. "Impressive," declared Isley, bidding his bodyguards to scatter. "I will make sure you attain your full potential by Awakening you. You deserve my full power, do you not? I will fulfil my end of the bargain, so that this Continent will be mine." His Yoki surged, and his body began to grow. Miria eyed him calmly as his centaur body moved with supernatural grace, trampling over several dozen soldiers with one casual step. He aimed his organic bow at Miria. "For your own sake, you should hurry and Awaken," he said quietly.

Miria's eyes remained steady. "Miata. Clarice. Attack."

He released his taut bow, and several divisions of men were hurled into the air, sand blasting upwards in geyser-like motions. The men around Isley panicked and began to flee, as the gargantuan Awakened Being advanced, giant arrows the size of warhorses leaving small craters in the sundered plains. Miata and Miria leaped away gracefully, and Miata managed to grab hold of Isley's arm and swung upwards, thrusting her sword at his face. The centaur being flung her off and raised his hooves, trying to trample her into the ground. But Miata somersaulted away. Isley calmly reformed his hands into a giant lance and shield. "Be glad I have been ordered to hold back my full strength," he said quietly, thrusting his lance at Miria. Her New Mirage managed to dodge his lightning-fast attack, but it did not stop him from bashing his shield into her. She felt her right arm and leg break. "Now, lie there and fall into despair. Fall into despair and Awaken!" called Isley, as Miata leaped up and cleaved into Isley's arm, but Isley merely flung her off. Clarice lunged, her eyes wide. She swung, attempting to sever one of Isley's thick legs. The centaur looked down and aimed his lance. Clarice glanced up and rolled away as the organic weapon dug into the sand with the force of a thousand men.

Miria struggled up, gritting her teeth. Not even Miata had managed to seriously wound him, but neither was he aiming to kill them either. _This is going nowhere_.

"What a pity… it seems that without killing intent, it really is impossible to subdue you so-called Ghosts… how fitting," chuckled Isley. "Well, that's not a problem with me, but I wonder how well Priscilla can obey His Eminence's orders."

_What_? "Priscilla?!" whispered Miria.

Isley leisurely raised his hooves, trampling another several Knights underneath him. "You'll find out very soon... just how much of a pinch you have gotten yourselves into."

Miria stared at Isley for several moments, and then her eyes widened in horrified understanding. "Could she… be fighting Clare?"

_My God. No_.


	11. Chapter 10: Tears of God

**Chapter 10: Tears of God**

After so many years of wandering, searching, and fighting, the Ghosts, who had been joined by Galatea, Miata and Clarice, discovered that the Army of the nation, which had been waging war against the mysterious Dragon Tribes of a distant land, was responsible for the creation of the Organization and the experiments of Awakened Beings on the Continent. As the final battle drew near, the supreme commander of the Army, Grand General Lord Carmelo, was revealed to have orchestrated everything on the continent since the beginnings of the Organization. After receiving news of not just the Western Gate Marshal's defeat at the hands of the Ghosts, but of Raphaela's as well, he formed a vast force of seven armies to personally initiate the Awakening of the Ghosts, and consolidate his vision of victory against the Dragon Kin. Leading these seven armies were his Pacifying Generals: the Eastern, Northern and Southern Gate Marshals Antonius, David and Frederick, the Organization's Black Twins, Alicia and Beth, and the Abyssal One Isley and his consort Priscilla. As this terrifying expedition crossed the plains near Darene, the ten Ghosts were joined by reinforcements from Rabona, led by Cid and Galk. Together, the Ghosts and the Rabona elite guard stood their ground, determined to mete out justice against the leaders of the Army, who had caused centuries of untold misery amongst its own people. As this final onslaught raged beyond the city, it seemed that, for a moment, survival was possible.

However, the losses were already tremendous. Frederick, David, Antonius had fallen. Tabitha, Yuma, Helen, and Deneve were unaccounted for, feared dead. Alicia had died at the hands of Galatea. And to Miria's horror, Clare had moved against Priscilla by herself.

Amidst this carnage, the conclusion of Darkness Falls unfolds…

*

Amidst the plains beyond Darene lay the corpses of thousands of men. Many had travelled back from the Isles, away from their archenemies the Dragon Kin, to do battle with a mere ten women. Many others were warriors from Rabona, who had sacrificed themselves in the name of protecting their people from their own Army.

These two personages were His Eminence Lord Carmelo, and the former Number Six, Miria. Thousands of human beings hailing from the Isles and across the Continent gathered to die in the name of these two leaders.

From the distance, it was clear that despite having a massive numerical disadvantage, the combined forces of the Ghosts and Rabona elite guard were slowly gaining ground. The Rabona riders, although having their forces reduced to a quarter of their original size, had routed most of the seven armies, thanks to the defeats of Marshal David, Frederick, and Antonius. The deaths of these Pacifying Generals had demoralized the Army to the extent that many of its soldiers opted to flee the plains of Darene rather than face Galk and Cid, who remained alive amidst hundreds of their comrades' corpses.

This battle had become almost an absurdity. But it was a pivotal one. One that would steer the course of humanity's war against the Descendants of the Dragons.

_It is a price worth paying. The Dragons must not triumph_.

With these reflections, a golden eyed, raven-haired man, spurred on his horse, and began to ride towards the bedlam in the distance…

*

"Get out of my way!" roared Miria, as she dodged another thrust from Isley's lance. _Dammit, I have to get to Clare_! She slashed wildly at the centaur, who bashed her away. She felt her arm break. She could not fight him on equal footing like this. Even as she managed to force herself up, the Abyssal One had kicked her away with a raise of his hooves, sending her sprawling several yards. She grunted in pain, clutching her Claymore close to her. Although she was not dead yet, it was clear what he was trying to do.

Isley was torturing her. Soon, she would, out of desperation, tap into the entirety of her Yoki, and it was then that Isley would have fulfiled his orders.

Awakening…

Time was running out.

_How – how could it have ended up like this_? she thought, as Isley's shield easily blocked an attack from her New Mirage.

_I have to resist. If I don't, I'll end up dead. It's as simple as that_, she affirmed, as his lance cut past her, drawing a stream of blood from her face.

_For the warriors who trusted in me… for those who chose to follow me… for all the suffering the Organization has caused…_

_For Hilda…_

_I will _not_ lose_.

Miria's grip on her sword tightened. "…ISLEY!!!" she roared, even as she felt his hooves dig into her stomach and send her flying, above the roaring crowds of warring soldiers…

*

Amongst the many corpses of Knights and Rabona riders stood the former Number-Seven, Clare. She had wandered the land in search of revenge, against a young girl named Priscilla. This young girl was, without a doubt, the most powerful Awakened One the land had ever bore witness to. As she lost the remnants of her humanity and Awakened, she had killed the most formidable Number One in history, Teresa, with her own hands. Ever since this shocking victory, she had engaged in a wild rampage, devouring the insides of countless human beings; and crushed her former rivals, Isley and Rigardo, with little effort. And now, by order of the Grand General, she lent her destructive hand against the Ghosts.

Clare had loved Teresa.

It was for this simple reason that she now stood before Priscilla, her grip tightening on her sword. After more than a decade of scouring the land for any sign of her, she now looked upon the despicable face of Teresa's murderer. "You killed Teresa," said Clare quietly, her voice simmering with hatred. "I won't forgive you."

Priscilla had not transformed into her Awakened form yet. She stared absently up at the sky even as Clare lunged, roaring in fury. Priscilla looked at her. Her mouth opened slightly. "Do you… want to hurt me?" she mumbled. Her body began grow slightly larger as Clare advanced. Gradually, her skin darkened, and her eyes grew yellow. Her hair shrunk back, and a geyser of Yoki erupted from beneath her, ripping her pink dress away, revealing a completely naked Awakened Being.

"I don't like people who hurt me," she murmured, claws sprouting from her slender fingers. She suddenly opened her mouth, hissing. Her teeth had become fangs, and her roar was deafening.

The hated horned head. The disgusting purple, taut body. Those demonic, leathery wings. Clare inched forward, her eyes flashing yellow. Her arm tightened, as she prepared to use Quicksword. Then, as fast as an elemental zephyr, she lunged, bringing her sword up –

She was too slow. Too slow for Priscilla, at least. The Awakened Being calmly raised her hand, and her five fingers elongated int organic spears. They whistled and shot towards Clare, who managed to evade three of them, but one stabbed into her foot, the other past her calf. She swore quietly and quickly sliced them apart with two vigourous strokes, landing painfully on the ground. Priscilla advanced calmly, raising her two hands and shooting all ten fingers at her. Clare unleashed her Yoki and sprinted forward, her Windcutting technique slicing through three of the blindingly fast fingers. _I'll reach her quickly and put an end to this _–

"That probably won't work." Priscilla's claws tore through Clare's body mid-air, and the momentum only heightened the pain as Clare felt her inner muscles flayed out in the open. Swearing through the pain, she attempted to hide her Yoki and step past Priscilla's line of sight. But even this strategy was far too immature for her monstrous adversary, whose clawed foot dug into her stomach, mauling it beyond recognition.

Barely able to stand, her legs trembling uncontrollably, Clare roared in desperate frustration as she attempted a wild slash at Priscilla, but even that was futile as the other calmly slapped away her sword with one of her fingers. With shocking ease, her other four weapons shot upwards and impaled Clare in the thigh, arm, right breast and shoulder. Swinging Clare up with her weapons still piercing into her body, she slammed her painfully on the ground, again and again. Clouds of dust rose from the prairie as Priscilla mercilessly hurled Clare down one final time, leaving the younger warrior choking sand and blood.

It was a crushing defeat. Humiliating, and utterly one-sided.

Clare twitched and moaned in hopeless agony as her life spilled out across the plains. How could she lose? She had fought for so long, against so many enemies… all for this?

It seemed… so unjust. _Is… the summit this high? So high that I can never scale it_? she thought in despair._ No matter how many years… no matter how hard I've fought_…

_Can I really never reach her_?

Priscilla rose, and brought her hand up. "This is the end for you," she said quietly. "Goodbye, weak one." But just before her elongated fingers came down in a killing blow, a straight, double-edged broadsword from behind suddenly punctured her chest, its tip emerging almost a foot from her torn breast.

She looked down in astonishment.

_Impossible_.

Although she was lying face-down, Clare could also glimpse Priscilla's stupefied expression. Her bloody mouth also dropped open in shock. Who could possibly have approached Priscilla without having its aura detected?

"Why… why could I not avoid this attack?" murmured Priscilla, looking behind her. Her astonished eyes fell upon those of a relatively short, youthful-looking man. A man of royal purple and melancholy grey robes and a flowing black cape tinted with shining saffron. A man of mournful, raven hair, and passionate golden eyes.

As she lay helplessly on the ground, Clare's eyes widened. "You… you are…"

"It's 'Your Eminence' to you, young lady," smiled the newcomer darkly. "I am the Grand General of the Army, Lord Carmelo. You _will_ address me with the appropriate honorifics."

The supreme commander of the nation's military had personally made his way onto the battlefield. He had also stabbed his own Pacifying General.

Why?

"God's wounds," exclaimed Lord Carmelo irritably, as he twisted his blade, eliciting another choked cry of pain from Priscilla. "You were supposed to Awaken her, not kill her, foolish girl," he chided. "I do not kill needlessly. In fact, I need these young women as part of my army against the Dragons.

"Really. I should have thought more carefully about recruiting Isley. A great man is not worth a troublesome woman."

Priscilla suddenly gasped. Something was wrong – horribly wrong. Black fluid continued to pour out from her vital organs, regardless of her incredible Yoki. Her flesh was refusing to close up. It could not pull itself together and regenerate. A sword wound through her chest usually would not have meant anything at all. Her Yoki was simply too strong to allow such a common wound to hurt her at all.

Then why was her flesh visibly shrivelling before the metallic touch of his blade?

Why was she feeling so terribly weakened before his very presence?

Priscilla staggered. "I'm scared…" she mumbled, as she began to revert to her human form. The horn receded, and the hair darkened back into that of a brunette child's. The naked little girl teetered before the older man, as he looked at her swaying back emotionlessly. Clare was rapidly losing consciousness, but her thoughts still ran through her head, barely able to understand the sheer level of power she had just witnessed.

_W__ hat power could possibly defeat even Priscilla? His aura pressure is like Galatea's, only infinitely stronger. Priscilla can't even use her basic Awakened powers to heal herself from the wound he inflicted_!

Carmelo raised his eyes, even as he pulled his weapon out of the slumping body of his victim. "Ah. Welcome," he smiled, as a black-and-cream body flew past him, slamming into the sand. "You're just in time to witness my final victory."

It was Miria. The leader of the Ghosts struggled up, confusion in her silver eyes. She had just landed, having been thrown back again by Isley's overwhelming power, and was only just recovering her winded body.

"What…" she looked at him. "Who… who are you?"

Carmelo laughed. "I know of you from the Western Gate Marshal, yet you do not know of me? You have never seen my journals, my war diaries in all the records you have stolen from the Organization's archives? You have never heard of my name praised in the annals of this Continent's history? As its creator? As the Organization's benefactor and sponsor of Yoma experimentation?"

Miria felt her stomach open in dread. "Could it be… that you're… Carmelo…?"

The Grand General smiled affirmingly. "Truly, you are your comrades' leader."

"You!" shouted Miria in enraged realization, as she looked upon the face of her archnemesis. "You are the orchestrator of all this carnage! All this treachery! This betrayal of your own people!!"

Carmelo blinked. After a few moments of unsure silence, he smiled again. "You're raving," he said quietly. "Be silent. Although I suppose I have to kill you eventually anyway – "

Gargantuan hooves landed nearby, resonating through the bloodsoaked plains. The giant Awakened Being Isley stood before Carmelo, about to aim his lance at Miria again when he caught sight of the lifeless Priscilla on the ground.

"No. Impossible," he said, shock in his voice. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I executed her, because she failed in her task. I want these women Awakened, not dead," snapped his commander.

"How… how could you… a human – " now Isley's voice was rising in anger. "How… how could you have killed her?"

"The Awakened One so many feared to be stronger than all the Abyssal Ones?" shrugged Carmelo. He raised his gleaming broadsword. "This was forged specially for my office. It is called the Sword of Heaven. Made from the same metal as that of your swords," he added, looking pointedly at Miria. "The ultimate in anti-Dragon technology; it nullifies many of the powers that Dragons possess. And before you accuse me of foul magicks, know that I am no Yoma; no Awakened Being; no Claymore. I am simply a mortal human being, my body forged in the fires of battle and the mind forged in the steel of the academy." He paused. "No tricks. I am as powerful as they get."

Isley stared at Carmelo in rage. "How dare you, Grand General."

Carmelo blinked. "Is something amiss?"

"You turned your back on our promise! I cannot rule this Continent without her. And now you have – "

"Ah, I see. So you _dare_ speak to me as an equal? Pay for your presumption!" declared Carmelo, his golden eyes narrowing. He smiled scornfully as Isley angrily re-aimed his lance at him. "Know your place. You are but my Pacifying General. So disobedient."

With his consort dead, Isley charged, thrusting his lance at Carmelo. The Grand General lashed out with his sword, and the two weapons clashed. For a moment, it seemed that Isley would easily overwhelm Carmelo, who was at least twenty-five feet shorter than him. But as Miria realized to her shock, they were evenly matched. In fact, Carmelo, a slight, mere mortal human, was pushing back the titanic Isley slightly.

"Wh… what?!" roared the centaur.

"I thought you were one of my greatest warriors, Lord Isley," said Carmelo, his hand not even struggling against Isley's massive bodyweight. "A pity Priscilla turned out to be a brainless girl who couldn't follow orders, and you turned out to be an immature, disobedient brat." Suddenly, Carmelo's knees bent. His sword began to tear through Isley's lance, and the human leaped upwards, piercing straight through his adversary's arm, ripping Isley's limb to shreds. Isley's eyes widened. "Im… impossible," he sputtered, as Carmelo hurtled upwards, and slashed at his chest.

The comparatively tiny sword, which should have caused a minor scratch, cleaved a massive, ten-foot, wet wound across the Awakened Being's upper body, and continued to enlarge even as Carmelo descended back onto the ground, landing lightly on his feet. Black blood showered the battlefield as Isley staggered and lost control of his Awakening powers. "My Sword of Heaven will not just multiply the power of its own blade. It will not only nullify the aura of others and conceal my own. Its damage penetrates so deeply that even the physical functions of beings with Yoki abilities are compromised – regeneration included," said Carmelo quietly.

Cynthia gasped. "How… how could he – "

No longer did Isley resemble a centaur. He had shrunk dramatically, returning to his blond-haired, handsome, human form. His eyes shone with futile fury, betrayal, and… despair. "I… should have never placed my trust in human beings a second time…"

He collapsed on his knees as what little of his Yoki dissipated into the air. He landed face down in the sand, unable to support even his human weight. "Carmelo…" he murmured, his weakening voice muffled further by the sand and blood in his ruined mouth. "A curse upon the traitorous human race of which you so proudly belong to." And with those last words, the Abyssal One, Isley of the Silver Locks, fell silent, his long life finally leaving his body forever.

"Awakened Beings that cannot be controlled are useless," said Carmelo quietly, as he flicked Isley's blood off his sword. "Better that I should wrong others, than others wrong the world." He gazed outwards towards the darkening horizon. "Dusk is falling," he murmured. He glanced up, as several nearby Knights were hurled away into the air. Galatea, who was supporting the silent and wounded Beth with one arm, had forced her way through the remnants of fighting soldiers, followed closely by Cynthia. They halted in their tracks upon catching sight of the corpses of Priscilla and Isley. Cynthia cried out in shock as she saw the now unconscious Clare's wounds.

With her free arm, Galatea pushed Cynthia behind her. "No… it cannot be," she muttered wildly to herself.

He glanced at Galatea. "So, Raphaela failed to kill you. And not only that; but you have defeated the Black Ones as well." He smiled amiably even as his remaining Knights fell around him. "I am thankful I arrived at this moment in time. You are as good as your reputation boasts."

"Cynthia," said Galatea quietly. "Take Beth." Cynthia obeyed, and Galatea reached back for her sword. "You are the enemy leader?" she demanded. "Your Generals are falling around you even as we speak. It won't be long before we defeat you as well."

"You will find my head a most uncooperative target," retorted Carmelo, raising the Sword of Heaven. "Have at you!" he somersaulted into the air, his blade touching Galatea's. She pushed forward – and felt herself staggering back, as if an invisible, magnetic hand had repelled her without the Grand General even moving. She gritted her teeth. "Fall!" roared Carmelo, stabbing at Galatea, before slashing upwards diagonally and back down again. He rolled away from a desperate counterattack by his blind enemy, before raising his sword down and slashing down in a violent motion, igniting the air in flames behind its bladetip. "Fall, and Awaken! Awaken, all of you!" He pivoted, turning in a circle and slashing horizontally, forcing Galatea away and cutting Miria through her arm, who had attempted to attack him from behind. As Galatea reeled, he thrust forward, his broadsword stabbing into her stomach, and as quickly he pulled it out and slashed outwards again, and a powerful shockwave radiated around him, hurling them back even further.

Cynthia protectively wrapped her arms around the trembling Beth, her eyes betraying frustration and helplessness. _If only I could help Galatea_…

Miria scrambled up and hurled herself at him, her sword raised. "What an eyesore!" exclaimed Carmelo, counterattacking. Miria felt her stomach open, blood vomiting out from her torn abdomen. She screamed, barely able to hold her sword. "You are the leader of these women?" cried Carmelo, countering her desperate attack. "Do you still not see reason? You should be honoured! Pleased! You hold the key to this land's salvation against the Dragons!"

"Freedom is the only true salvation," spat Miria at her archnemesis. "You've damned us to a life in Hell!"

"You are adamant?" cried Carmelo, rolling aside. "Your methods are those that will only prolong this bloody conflict against creatures far stronger than us! My way is the only way!"

Galatea slashed at him again, but she slammed painfully into the ground as Carmelo's new shockwave sent the two veteran Ghosts flying back again. She blinked, and Carmelo was upon her. There was nowhere to evade.

It was useless. Whatever they did, he had an answer for. However they responded, he pre-empted them.

How could they possibly survive, let alone triumph?

Galatea crumpled to the floor, physically incapacitated. "Perhaps a wound to your stomach would help you rekindle those pangs of Awakening," declared Carmelo, raising his hand.

"NO!!" screamed Cynthia.

The broadsword descended.

Galatea closed her eyes, and waited for the inevitable. "I will not Awaken. I'll die before I make myself useful to you," she said calmly.

But just as she steeled herself for the inevitable pain, a sword blocked Carmelo's way, the clang ringing audibly through the air.

The Grand General's eyes narrowed.

A scar across the left eye. Shortened hair to the shoulders.

Raphaela stood before Carmelo, blocking his blade, her sword pushing against his. "Raphaela!!" cried Galatea in shock. Cynthia gasped, and Miria's eyes suddenly shone with a glimmer of hope.

The Grand General's eyes narrowed. "What is the meaning of this?" he snarled. "You failed to carry out the mission I assigned you, and now you attack me directly? You are committing treason, young lady."

"She told me everything," said Raphaela. "Everything about the Army. The Continent. You." She struggled to force him back. "It seems like you missed out certain pieces of information when you recruited me."

For the first time, Carmelo audibly grunted in frustration. "Damn you women."

Galatea glanced at Miria and Raphaela, who both nodded. Raphaela blocked Carmelo's surprise attack and thrust, forcing him to engage her in earnest. To his disturbance, Raphaela seemed to at least match his speed. He waved his sword, and a trail of elemental mana spilled from his blade, sending Raphaela staggering back. She desperately held up her sword in a forced block, but his relentless slashing was going to break through her defence sooner than later.

But as the swords of the veteran warriors screeched against the other, with Carmelo on the advantage, Miria came from his flank, and aimed her sword directly at his head. Narrowing his eyes, he moved to evade –

But for just one moment, he could not.

_What_? he thought in astonishment.

Lying on the ground, Galatea raised her bloody face and smiled. "I guess that's all I can do to help. Not too bad for a wounded cripple." Her Yoki had suddenly clashed with his aura, and he struggled to move; only for a second. Within that short time he had crushed Galatea's influence with ease, but it was one moment too late. Miria's Mirage blade punctured his jugular, prompting a gush of blood and tissue from his flesh. His windpipe snapped sickeningly as his eyes widened in astonishment. The Claymore blade, thicker than his entire neck, lodged itself in the latter, a disgusting, lethal wound which was Miria's last card. Gore poured uncontrollably down his robes, dyeing his dark purple and black vermillion. His life poured out of his sliced neck as Galatea paused. Was he going to attempt some miraculous healing through Yoki? Or perhaps his sword could…

He spoke the truth. "_I am no Yoma; no Awakened Being; no Claymore. I am simply a mortal human being, my body forged in the fires of battle and the mind forged in the steel of the academy_."

Suddenly, everyone seemed to fall silent.

Carmelo lifted his gaze to the woman who had inflicted the fatal wound. "Self-righteous naiveté… cannot save the Isles of Man from the wrath of the Dragons," he muttered to Miria, who gazed at him with sombre eyes. His voice was barely a whisper, his windpipe already crushed by metal. "My methods may have seemed harsh in contrast to my true intentions… but your obsession for so-called justice will lead to nothing more than humanity's oblivion."

"Do not fear," said Miria, stepping back. For the first and last time, compassion for the man who had committed so many atrocities in the name of winning a war reflected in her eyes. "I will not abandon the Continent and its people. I will fight the Dragon Nations. But your time has passed. I won't sacrifice my own people to protect them. I will treat their lives as sacred, in memory of all the young women whose lives you ruined."

He grimaced, about to say something, but for whatever reason, he desisted. Whether he had acknowledged in his heart that Miria had been right all along, or if he had decided that it was impossible to persuade her, she would never know. "Then… carry on the fight against the Dragons. That is all I ask. With that said… I leave the fate of the Isles of Man to you."

With those last words, the Grand General's hand loosened, releasing his feared Sword of Heaven. His robes and cape billowed as he fell back. He closed his golden eyes as his black hair fluttered in the wind.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

*

_Dusk_

The Battle of Darene Plains had lasted for several hours, from afternoon till sunset. As news of the Grand General's death spread, the seven armies had panicked and pulled back, retreating from the plains in earnest. Only the dusts of cloud were visible now; the rest was but the darkening backdrop of the sundered sky.

The Ghosts had overcome the impossible.

Cynthia collapsed on the ground on all fours. Tears flowed silently from her eyes as Miria gently eased the bodies of Helen, Deneve, Tabitha and Yuma beside each other. Yuma's eyes were still open, testimony to her final moments of anguished pain. Tenderly, Miria closed them a s she crouched on the ground, her hands gently brushing the grime, dust and blood off their bodies. Miata stood clutching at Clarice's clothes as Clarice choked back sobs. And having healed ever so slightly from her lethal wounds thanks to Galatea and Cynthia, Clare stood silently apart from the others, gazing at Helen's corpse.

They had been too late for four too many.

One single tear trickled down her face – nothing like her lament after Jean's passing, but it was difficult to compare the Battle of Darene Plains to the Invasion of Pieta.

With only a dozen surviving men behind them, Cid and Galk stood at attention, their faces glum. Usually full of camaraderie and sardonic humour, they felt lost for words as they observed their onetime enemies, the 'Claymores', preparing to send off their friends one last time.

Beside the four corpses of their comrades lay the salvaged bodies of David, Frederick, Antonius, Alicia, Isley, and Priscilla. "I will burn the Grand General's corpse, so that he can never find a true place to rest," said Miria bitterly, looking at the almost serene countenance of the Grand General. _Save the blood, his robes have barely been ruffled_, thought Miria bitterly. He had remained convinced of his legitimacy until the very end, but at the very least, he seemed to have found some peace in passing the duty to a new leader. That leader was none other than Miria.

She had chosen to accept it; she now was their leader against the Dragons.

"No," said Galatea, putting a hand on Miria's shoulder, snapping her out of her reverie. "Bury them all in their own graves," she urged. "Give all of these poor souls the respite they deserve. We have done our part. We need not take the Divine's responsibility upon ourselves." She turned to Beth, who had just stood up and moved away from Alicia's corpse. "Look," said the former Number Three, guiding Miria to look at the lonely and confused face of the surviving Black Twin. "We have more important things to worry about than insulting the dead. We must tend to the living."

Miria nodded, closing her eyes. "You're right… you're right," she mumbled, turning away. "Either way, you… you and the others… should go back to the city. I'll take it from here."

Galatea stopped. "But surely we must get to burying the dead?"

"I'm not sure what we can do about the thousands of warriors who died here today," said Miria. "But with Helen, Deneve, Tabitha and Yuma… I would like to bury them personally, and alone. If you want… you're welcome to perform the last rites on anyone you wish. It's your prerogative."

Galatea nodded, her smile gently consoling.

Cid and Galk turned to Miria and Clare, saluting them. "We'll head back to Rabona. Please, if there's anything you need, just tell us. We still have some reserve troops in the city," said Galk. With an awkward silence, they urged their horses and men on, and rode into the sandy distance.

Even the usual farewell felt disrespectful.

Watching them, Miria nodded and turned to her surviving friends, her smile sad. "Thank you all… for coming so far along the journey with me. If possible… please stay with me a little longer. Our work… is only half-complete."

The remaining five Ghosts nodded in affirmation as they turned towards the direction of the sleeping city.

*

Miria had not lied. It was true that she wanted to bury the corpses alone. Although Raphaela had left long ago, Miria was sure they would see each other again. The former Number Five apparently hadn't found the answers she had been searching for. It was just as well. Very soon, war would come again, and as much as she hated to admit it, Miria would need Raphaela's help.

Especially after the loss of Helen, Deneve, Tabitha, and Yuma.

She was sitting on a small hill of sand, wondering just how she could dig holes without a shovel, when she heard a friendly voice.

"Hey."

Miria looked up to see a young girl in pink smiling down at her. Her deep, demonic brown eyes were illuminated by the emerging stars. "Riful." Miria turned away, her eyes uncaring and her voice sarcastic. "You're still angry with Clare? I don't believe you should still hold a grudge, since out of the three Abyssal Ones, you're the last one. Congratulations."

"Well, I guess I was a bit too late on the scene. But it's still worth it. I mean, look at you. It took several major battles, the deaths of some of your closest friends, and an imminent invasion of the Dragon Nations for you to realize that I was never talking out of my little behind? My concern was Isley, but only because he was connected to the Army. Now, you have an even greater foe to contend with."

Miria raised her head to the heavens. "You still want us to Awaken. I'm not going to put my friends in that kind of danger."

"I'm willing to put even that aside for the time being. For now, you and the other surviving Ghosts must join with Dauf and I, for to be friendless is to ask for death at the hands of those the Organization sought to fight against."

"A strange alliance you've planned there."

"One that I have planned for more than eight years," countered Riful. "You know there can be no other alternative, with the Grand General killed at your hands. Honestly, what were you thinking? Now I'm more correct than I've ever been." She took a short breath. "We are the only beings capable of stopping the next invasion of the Dragon Tribes. Do you want to see this Continent sink along with the Isles? I thought not."

Silence from the other.

"Awakening can wait," said Riful quickly, her voice straining to remain humorous. "But even with that on the table, don't you still have the remnants of the Army to deal with?"

It took several moments for Miria to answer. When she did reply, she only spoke two words, but they were the words that Riful had expected to hear from Clare the moment she had offered her a pact of war.

"Very well."

"We are allies now?" asked Riful keenly.

"...Only as long as the Dragons threaten the Isles and the Continent," replied Miria coldly.

The diminutive Abyssal One turned away. Her smile was broad, full of excitement and anticipation. "Most wonderful. With you by my side, we'll topple the Dragons from their shiny little pedestal of lapis lazuli," she proclaimed joyfully.


End file.
